Corruption
by Emjay
Summary: Corrupted by rage, driven by revenge, Eldarion son of Aragorn begins a mass slaughtering of the Elves. What will happen, when Legolas' children, the last of their kind are captured?RR!
1. Home

A/N: WHOHOOOO!! SEQUEL!!!! Whoa, sorry. Just a little excited. Ok. Here it is folks! The sequel to "From Beneath the Depths of Shadow"!!!! For all of you who DID review, thankyou. For all of you who DID not review, but still read it, MAY FERRETS EAT YOUR LIVER. No, just kidding! For all of you who read it, but did not review, please take the time to go back and do so before reading this. Please. Anywayz, here it is! Enoy! R&R!!!!  
  
Disclaimer: sigh.....you all know the drill, right? I DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT OWN ANY OF TOLKIEN'S MASTERPIECE. Spare me your wrath. This applies to every chapter, title, and author's note in this fic, so CHILL OUT.  
  
Note: YES, Eldarion "is" Aragorn's son's real name. Want to challenge me? READ THE APPENDIX!!! It will tell you all you need to know. Also, somewhere, it says Eldarion has many sisters, though not a precise number. I will be taking the liberty of making up a number. Do not bite my head off. K? Anyway, on with the fic!  
  
Chapter One  
  
Soft waves lap the sandy shores, pure white clouds caress the blue sky, trees sway gently in the afternoon breeze. For many, this would be an ideal location. For the inhabitants of the Haven, this day was just another day in their endless lives. Picturesque views, inky sunsets, and warm winds are the things that the Elves had grown to just expect. Never was there a day when the sky clouded over, or thunder boomed in the distance. The Haven was a place of tranquility and peace, where they could spend their days in happiness and relaxation.  
  
Though there are few, and very few at that, who do not enjoy such things.  
  
Few feel restless, unhappy, uncomfortable.  
  
Few desire to return to Middle-Earth.  
  
In the end, perhaps it will be those few who turn the course of fate, and once again, Elves will walk the earth of lands long forgotten.  
  
*********  
  
The sun was already high in the sky, when Eomynne decided she needed a walk.  
  
Sitting alone in the shade of her sand-stone home, the wind bekoned her forth. Shrieks of laughter carried on the wind, ticked her sensitive ears, and the warm breeze soothed her tightly strung muscles. Her misty blue eyes scanned the vast field at her feet, roving across the sea of green, to land on a high tower on the distance. The corners of her moutn curved into a smile, white teeth flashing in the mid-afternoon sun. Slowly, she stood, a silky white gown flowing in folds around her hidden feet. Smoothing the fabric slightly, Eomynne started forward, pading softly over to a glass table, where she retrieved a glittering saphire pin, placing it securly in the long golden tresses of her hair that hung loosely down her back. Her ivory skinned hand paused there, a memory flashing before her eyes.  
  
Smiling again, Eomynne continued on, stepping from the stone steps onto the rich green grass, breaking into a run. Though before she could get far, a firm hand gripped her wrist, pulling her into a warm embrace. She did not feel the faintest bit surprised, inhaling the sweet scent of the man that held her close.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
The voice is smooth and melodic, sending shivers down her spine.  
  
"Nowhere really, Elleduil." She replied, sighing contentedly.  
  
A gentle hand tipped her head up, to meet clear emerald eyes. His gaze is searching, never breaking contact with Eomynne's. For a while they are silent, until she pulls away, starting forward once again. The man follows her, always a few steps behind.  
  
"You have no need to follow me." Eomynne said firmly, though gently, not looking behind her.  
  
Elleduil stopped, smiling softly. "That's what brothers do, am I right?"  
  
Eomynne sighed, turning around to face him. "Perhaps, but both you and I know well enough that the Haven is safe. If we were on Middle-Earth, I would let you, but not here."  
  
Returning to her pace, the tower looming closer with every stride, she did not need to look back to see that her brother had stopped following her, and was returning home. Hopefully, she would not run into Caelidur along the way. Though younger than Elleduil, he was not easy to shake off. He had a fierce protectiveness towards her, that she knew he would never grow out of.  
  
In what seemed like no time at all, Eomynne was standing on the threshold of the mighty pinacle, looking beyond the giant hill down into the widely swept fields and valleys below, other homes catching her eye here and there. Even farther beyond, she could see the shoreline, gulls weeling and diving around the docks that awaited new vessels. One such vessel was pulling in at that very moment, laden with only a few passengers. Soon, Eomynne knew, no more boats would arrive at the Haven. Soon, all the Elves would be in the West.  
  
Gaze returning to her present location, she approached the tall doors, little intricacies carved into the smooth stone. They might have seemed daunting for any normal Elf, but for Eomynne, she knew the secret. Running a single slender finger along them, she whispered one word, and they flew open, amidst much swirling of dust.  
  
Smiling to herself, Eomynne entered, immediately being plunged into cool shadow, shafts of light penetrating the darkness in places where windows lined the walls. The entrance hallway separated off into two doors on the far side, where she could hear soft voices eminating, but her attention was on the towering stairwell that circled up into the farthest heights of the tower. Almost without thinking, Eomynne began the ascent quickly, the air cool and refreshing on her soft skin. For a long while she continued up, occasionally pausing to glance out a side window, each time higher and higher above the ground far below.  
  
Finally, the staircase ended, rather abruptly, and she was faced with yet another door. This one though, was open a crack, and a silverly trail of light ran along the floor. Slowly, she approached it, pulling the heavy stone open farther, until there was room enough for her to slip through.  
  
Once inside, her eyes landed on a slender figure standing tall by yet another window, which was much larger than the rest. They were looking outside, still as stone, until by accident, Eomynne's foot disturbed a small pebble, sending it skittering across the floor. The figure stiffened, wheeling on his heel, though his eyes lit up immediately when he saw her.  
  
"Eomynne!" he laughed, normally stern brown eyes bright.  
  
"Good-afternoon Haldir." Eomynne replied, smiling broadly. "I thought I would come to visit you."  
  
Haldir grinned coyly, stepping forward, taking her hand and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "It is a pleasure indeed to see you, my Lady. How long has it been since I gazed upon your beauty last?"  
  
Eomynne frowned playfully. "Too long, old friend." She sniffed, tears jumping into her eyes. "I cannot bear the time that separates us so."  
  
Dramatically, she collapsed in his embrace, unable to keep a smile from her lips.  
  
"Ah, your words ring true." Haldir replied, lifting Eomynne to her feet once more. "I hardly see you now. It was much easier when you were little. Now your brothers would hew the limbs from my body if I touched you while they are around. I saw how Elleduil stopped you on your way."  
  
Eomynne nodded, sighing softly. "Yes, they are more protective of me now. Elleduil is not as bad, though I believe one of these many days, Caelidur will drive me to insanity."  
  
Haldir chuckled. "Perhaps he will, but for now, let us enjoy the time that we have, before one of your brothers notices how long you have been gone."  
  
Eomynne nodded in agreement, finding a nearby chair and seating herself in it. Haldir did not sit, returning to his place by the window. He glanced out briefly, something catching his eye, then his eyes found their way back inside to the woman before him.  
  
"So Eomynne, tell me how you are. I much desire to know what pushed you to come."  
  
Eomynne sighed, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Well Haldir, to be truthfull, I am very unhappy."  
  
Haldir gave her a look of pure shock, his eyes questioning her further.  
  
"I feel....uncomfortable," she continued, "unsatisfied with my life. I do not know what it is....I just, wish to do something more. Life is so normal here in the Haven. I sometimes long to know what lies beyond these sandy shores. My mother never talks of her life on Middle-Earth, for my father tells me it was a horrible time. He never says anything either, always changing the subject when I bring it forward. I am unhappy here. I need something more."  
  
As her voice died away, silence settled in. Uneasy silence. Haldir did not respond, he just kept staring at the floor, or out the window again, unable to meet Eomynne's gaze. Tension made the air heavy, so heavy the two could almost feel it press down on their shoulders. For a long while, the stillness stretched out awkwardly, drawing thinner until finally Haldir snapped it in two.  
  
"You know very well you cannot leave the Haven." He began, tone controled, though wavering slightly. "I-I cannot say whether it is right or wrong to think such things, or desire them, but what I do know-"  
  
His unsteady voice was interupted, as the door opened, another slender figure appearing.  
  
"Haldir?" Legolas' tone was questioning, his brows raised in amusement.  
  
Haldir smiled warmly, and bowed low in respect. Eomynne however, did not look at her father, her eyes fixed on the woman behind him.  
  
Bren, her mother, stood erect and tall like the Queen she was, a single dainty hand upon Legolas' shoulder. Her now incredibly long, fiery copper hair fell in thick strands down her back, almost to the floor, little silver clips placed here and there with trails of multi-coloured beads. She wore a flowing golden gown, pinned just below her shoulders, drooping down low in a semi-circle that exposed much of her glowing porcelain skin. She was smiling at Eomynne, with the same amusement shown on Legolas glowing in her emerald eyes.  
  
"We did not expect to find you here daughter." Legolas continued, turning to face her. "Your mother and I wished to have a private meeting with Haldir before the day was through. If you are busy though...."  
  
Haldir shot Eomynne a pleading look. She could see the same feelings on his face that she felt in her heart. They needed this time now.  
  
"If it would not be to much trouble." She answered finally, gaze shifting uncomfortably from one person to the next. She could feel her mother's eyes on her, a searching sensation that Eomynne had grown to dislike. It seemed to her no matter how well she kept things inside, Bren would always sniff her out.  
  
Her suspicions were confirmed, as Bren opened her mouth to speak.  
  
"I know how much you enjoy spending time with Haldir." She began, removing her hand from Legolas' shoulder. "But I sense some tension that we need to resolve. I believe we interupted an important conversation, did we not?"  
  
Eomynne sighed, nodding sullenly. She had wished to keep the feelings of discomfort from her parents. She did not want to upset either of them, and we was certain hearing such news would bring much toil to their hearts. She knew as well as anyone, as Haldir had commented, that she could not ever leave the Haven. Such a thing was unimaginable. Never had it been done before, for no one had desired it. Having a child that wished to leave would bring shame to the family. It could be considered rude, or selfish to give up such a life. Eomynne did not ever want to disgrace her family name. Not ever.  
  
Legolas approached her, still much taller than his daughter. His knowing gaze looked down upon her, bringing a slight flush to Eomynne's cheeks. Without even saying anything, she felt embarassed.  
  
"What is it that you keep from us?" he asked slowly, a gentle hand coming up to caress her face.  
  
Eomynne leaned into the touch, closing her eyes.  
  
"I-I...." She muttered, her throat seemingly drying up and twisting into a horrible knot. "I....wish to leave the Haven."  
  
Legolas drew in a sharp breath, his hand tensing slightly.  
  
Eomynne felt Haldir draw in close behind her, a steadying hand on her waist. She shivered slightly at his touch, opening her eyes. Legolas looked as calm as ever, his brows drawn together in deep thought. For a while everyone was silent, and Eomynne risked a look at her mother, waiting for the worst.  
  
Much to her surprise, Bren was still smiling, a twinkle in her eye. There was a brief hint of sorrow on her features, though the happiness that shone there overshadowed it greatly.  
  
Eomynne's heart eased, though not fully. There was still her father to contend with.  
  
"Your desires bewilder me," he said, laughing a little. "Though I can understand why. Your brothers have too approached me with this longing in their hearts. I know that being born in the Haven, is being brought into the sheltered life, and staying here, you could never know adventure, freedom, the thrill of battle surging through your veins...." Legolas paused there, a sudden darkness coming over his features. The light in his clear blue eyes went out, his lips pressed firmly together. Eomynne felt a chill run down her spine, the hairs on her neck standing. The room seemed to chill, a cloud passing over the sun, the rays dissapearing.  
  
"And it is on that note, that I came to see Haldir."  
  
Almost immediately, Haldir let go of her. Eomynne could feel the sudden shift of the air, from awkwardness, to anger, and she suddenly felt weak, collapsing in a nearby chair.  
  
"Must your daughter hear such things?" Haldir questioned, though Eomynne knew not what he meant.  
  
Legolas nodded grimly, his now icy gaze shifting to her.  
  
"Eomynne." He murmured. "You must know of the events on Middle-Earth, before you decide your true intentions. Perhaps hearing my grave news will quench the fire of longing."  
  
Eomynne shivered. "Of what do you speak father?"  
  
"Of muder, hatred, and revenge." Once again he paused, glancing to Haldir, who was trembling slightly, gaze on the floor. The blonde elf sighed, then continued. "Twelve years ago, when Aragorn's son, Eldarion, was crowned King of Gondor at age seventeen, his sister Mirwen was murdered by a band of Elves while staying in Lothlorien. Driven by rage, he sent a great army, and slaughtered every Elf in the Golden Wood, brutally transforming the magical place into a graveyard of the dead. Not soon after, yet another blow was sent to the young King, as the remaining Elves of Rivendell grouped together and attacked a camp near the borders of Gondor, and Eldarion's close friend Immodis was killed in the onslaught. Such a great grief was laid on his heart, and soon, because of the power of Gondor, Elves were forced into hiding. Eldarion enforced upon his people the idea that Elves were evil creatures, and were to be wiped out at all costs.  
  
`'For many years since then, the Elves have been hunted, killed on sight. Many innocent have died because of Eldarion. He has become corrupted by power, and hardened by his anger. Few Elves are still alive on Middle-Earth today, and they cannot escape to the West. All ships have been burned by order of Eldarion, and every port and dock guarded by sentries of Gondor. There is no way out for them. And there will be no way out for you daughter, if you decide to take such a trip, and give up the life that has been given to you."  
  
Eomynne felt as though she'd swallowed a stone. She could not believe that such acts were being commited to her people. The thought of such brutal murders chilled her blood. She just could not believe that the son of Aragorn could be driven to the extremes he had taken. It was simply unimaginable.  
  
But within her heart, rage dwelt aswell.  
  
The burning hatred she now felt towards men surged in her veins and clouded her mind.  
  
There was only one thought, that resonated above:  
  
Eldarion had to be stopped.  
  
"I will go." Eomynne said sharply, standing stiffly. "I will not allow such things to be commited while I am safe in the Haven. Eldarion cannot be allowed to continue this act of evil. He must be stopped."  
  
Legolas nodded, an aura of acceptance about him. He knew that his children would not stay in the Haven. He had always known they would eventually leave, under harsh circumstances or not. It was slightly painfull to think about loosing them, but they were still incredibly young in Elvish ways, and had eternity to live. They could never know the true extent of life staying in the West. Legolas had to let them go.  
  
Haldir on the other hand, was feeling things on the exact oposite side. He had grown to love Eomynne above all his friends, all his merry companions. He could not imagine living life without her close by. She was not considered as beautifull as her mother, not many Elvish men looked at her twice, but to him, she shone brighter than that of Galadriel herself. To many, it was the gruesome scar on her left cheek that turned most away. She had received it while still young. Whilst swimming in the sea, the tide had caught her, pulling her already frail form under. One sharp piece of coral had gashed her, and she had almost drowned. Luckily, Elleduil had been close by, saving her from the turbulent surf. The cut had not healed properly afterwards, leaving the horrid red scar on her once beautifull skin.  
  
Perhaps his feelings toward the princess had escalated to a higher level, now that he really thought about it. Haldir was many thousand years older than her, but she seemed wise beyond her meager age. She would speak of things many know naught of, and council even the wisest of scholars. Eomynne was all he strove to be, and loved her presence above all. Haldir could not live without her.  
  
Bren looked at her daughter, the light of a thousand years in her young eyes. She was awed by Eomynne's courage, and felt a pang of sorrow, knowing how much responsibility she would bear once on Middle-Earth. Elleduil and Caelidur could only do so much. There were only three of them, where hundreds of thousands of Gondor men stood. They had so little of a chance, to save the Elves from the torture they were forced to endure. There was so little room for error. And yet, all the same, Eomynne had decided to take up the impossible task, to free her people. To allow the Elves that remained safe passage to the West.  
  
It would be a daunting mission.  
  
Legolas thought.  
  
Haldir sighed.  
  
And Bren prayed. 


	2. King

A/N: hey everyone! Chapter two here! I don't have any reviews yet, and am very said because of that. PLEASE REVIEW!! I thrive on reviews! Reviews feed the flame of my muse. Muse: MWAHAHAHA!! MORE REVIEWS!!! MY FLAME MUST BURN!!! MUERO MUERO!!! Oh, and speaking of flames, review flames will be laughed at. If you don't like my stuff, don't bother to leave flaming reviews. I will simply ignore them. Ok then, now that everything's said and done, on with the fic!  
  
  
  
1 Chapter Two  
  
  
  
Silently, though swiftly, Eomynne crept like a hunting cat through the dense underbrush. Her footsteps left no imprint on the mossy floor, whatever she tread on undisturbed. The forest around her was tight and thickly grown. It seemed no one had been there for ages. What sounds should have been there were silent. The forest was dead. The men of Gondor had killed all life there, along with the Elves that had once lived between the towering trees. That single thought brought forth waves of emotion within Eomynne, though she kept her rage silent. Over time, she had gotten better at bottling up her emotions, keeping them dormant until battle was upon her. Unleashing all that pent up energy served well in battle she soon found out. In the two weeks she had been on Middle-Earth, many men of Gondor had died by her sword. Quicker than most, Eomynne had transformed herself into a warror, tuning her reflexes, training her body, changing from the sheltered princess to a fierce opponent.  
  
It had been hard at first, to come to such a destroyed land, knowing nothing of protecting herself.  
  
But she had learned quick enough. Caelidur and Elleduil had made sure of that.  
  
They would not leave their sister vulnerable.  
  
Quite abrutply, Eomynne stopped, crouching down low. She sheathed her sword, ignoring the hiss of metal as it slided into the scabard, all her attention, all her senses on the space beyond the ferns where she hid. With one steady hand, she peeled back the foliage slowly, keen Elven eyes scanning the scene beyond.  
  
Groaning inwardly, Eomynne bit her lip, shoulders slumping as she counted the figures in the camp.  
  
Twenty…..fourty-five…..seventy two….one hundred and fifty.  
  
One hundred and fifty smelly, dirty, weapon clad Gondor soldiers, still ignorant to her presence.  
  
This would not be easy.  
  
Eomynne's nose wrinkled in disgust, the putrid smell of flesh and blood wafting towards her. The bile rose even further up her throat when she saw the source of the horrible stench. A mutilated, torn and twisted body lay no more than twenty strides away, the clothes torn and shredded, day old blood attracting hoards of flies.  
  
"Uh." She choked silently. "It's an Elf."  
  
Two figures moved in close beside her, each placing a comforting hand on Eomynne's shoulder.  
  
"Try not to think about it." Elleduil instructed. "It will only make you feel worse."  
  
Eomynne tried to nod in response, but found she could not. She could not stop thinking about who it might have been. The dead body could have been anyone. A close friend of her father, or Haldir. A brother or sister of someone safe in the Haven. Anyone. A lone tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away fervently, pushing all her emotions away for the time being.  
  
'Wait', she told herself. 'You will avenge their death soon enough'.  
  
For a while the three were silent, each conjuring plans in their head. The seconds stretched out, turning into minutes, turning into an hour before a jeering laugh echoed through the camp. Eomynne felt the hairs on her neck standing, her blood boiling.  
  
The sounds of slicing and slashing, cries of despair and pain, lingered in the air long after two men approached their hiding place, oblivious to their presence, dropping another body where the first lay.  
  
"Another life taken." Caelidur growled, his grip on Eomynne's shoulder tightening. "Another soul extinguished for the purpose of their crude entertainment. I cannot stand this any longer." His glance shifted to his older brother. "Elleduil, we should take them now. They deserve punishment."  
  
Elleduil did not respond, brows knitted together as he continued to survey the scene.  
  
After a long while, he slid away, motioning the other two to follow.  
  
"They have more prisoner on the far north-east side." He explained, unslinging his bow and fitting two arrows on the reed string. "We will free them first. Then, will the men of Gondor pay the price for their evil."  
  
Caelidur grinned devilishly, looking pleased with Elleduil's decision.  
  
"It has been too long since my blade sung the cry of revenge, and tasted the blood of men."  
  
Eomynne ignored both of them, hand tight on the hilt of her sword.  
  
The three took off across the grounds, sliding like silent shadows in the night. Above them, the waxing moon hung high in the sky, shedding its light on the world below. Few rays penetrated the weaving branches and intertwining leaves. They did not need the light though. Their sight was more than enough for the heavy darkness.  
  
Now closer to the makeshift tents, and crackling fires, they slowed their pace, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The entire group of men were together around one mammoth bonfire, the giant tongues of flame leaping into the sky, crackling and hissing as more wood fed its hunger. Even so far away, Eomynne could smell the ale they consumed, great barrels of the substance. She rarely drunk such liquids, though knew well enough what great quantities would do. They were far past drunk. Easy prey.  
  
"Eomynne, the tent where the Elves are being held is over there." Elleduil whispered above the rautious talk and howling laughter, pointing to a small shelter, crude compared to the larger tents. "You will release them, then give us the signal when they are gone from this place. Is that clear?"  
  
Eomynne nodded, slowly unsheathing her sword, giving her brothers a quick hug before dissapearing into the shadows once more. As silent as possible, she approached the tent, taking her place behind it and slicing a hole in the back. She slipped through the material, both hands wipping out to cover the mouths of the captives.  
  
As her eyes adjusted slightly to the dim light, Eomynne realized they were two men, tied at the wrists and ankles, sparsely clothed.  
  
"Dina."Be silent. She whispered, waiting until they nodded, before removing her hands.  
  
"Mankoi naa lle sinome?" Why are you here? The one on her left asked quietly as she began to slit his bonds, curiosity flickering on his battered features.  
  
"Amin tula a'leitha lle." I come to free you.  
  
They both fell silent once more, allowing Eomynne to work swiftly. The second captive's ropes were harder to cut, and she began to have trouble. This was taking too long.  
  
"I'apanonar tula ten-lye rato." The second said, a hint of fear in his raspy voice. The men come for us soon.  
  
Eomynne groaned, finally slicing the rough rope in her last try. Without words, she motioned them to exit the tent through the hole. The thinner of the two went first, with little to none difficulty. The second had more trouble, and Eomynne had to slit the hole slightly bigger. Once they were both out, she glanced behind herself briefly, and was about to follow, when there was a great shout, and a firm hand gripped her right ankle, bringing Eomynne to the ground. She thrashed about wildly, swinging her deadly blade. The man just dodged one swipe after the other, constantly calling for help.  
  
"Caelidur! Elleduil!" she shrieked, before her head was crushed into the earth, dirt and pebble clouding her lungs. Coughing violently, Eomynne continued to struggle, until another man kicked her in the side, knocking out what wind was left in her. Momentarily paralyzed, she dropped her sword, and it was taken quickly.  
  
Still kicking and coughing, Eomynne was dragged brutally from the tent out into the open, where the men circled in around her, jeering and laughing, throwing stones and kicking more dirt in her face. She screamed with pain, trying over and over to get to her feet, but each time being kicked back down.  
  
Suddenly, a single arrow sang through the air, lodging itself in one man's skull. His limp body crumpled to the ground, followed by shouts of outrage. More arrows sailed through the camp, killing at least ten more soldiers, before a mighty roar tore through the melee.  
  
"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!!"  
  
Death to the foes of the Elves!  
  
Amidst the confusion and surprise, Eomynne was able to drag herself to her feet, retrieving her own bow, letting arrow after arrow fly. The men answered each attack with slices from their swords, some drawing axes and others spiked maces. Dodging between her opponents, she avoided most attacks, spotting Caelidur swinging in a tornado of death, his blade hewing limbs and slicing effortlessly through unprotected flesh. Elleduil was close by, fending off the men that circled him with more and more arrows. Soon his supply was spent, and he drew his own sword, rendering two unconscious with the hilt and killing the other three with expertly aimed blows.  
  
The numbers in the camp were dwindling, and still Eomynne, Caelidur and Elleduil had barely been scathed.  
  
Perhaps victory would be theirs.  
  
Just as Eomynne was about to raise another battle cry into the air, heavy, thundering footsteps drowned out all sound in the camp. Everyone seemed to pause, holding their breath, looking in the direction of the giant sound.  
  
In half a heartbeat, at least two hundred more Gondor men materialized out of the foliage raising the cry Eomynne had wished to. She had barely time to react, before she was brought to the ground by the flat of someone's blade. Her head smashed against a protruding rock, skull crumbling under the impact. The scene around her began to melt away, sounds diminishing as blood oozed from the wound.  
  
The last thing she heard was her brothers yelling, before darkness took over, drawing her under.  
  
*******  
  
Eldarion stood tall, leaning on the balcony that overlooked the city far below. He was fingering a small dagger, drawing it slowly along his index finger, slicing the skin there. A trail of blood began to run, until Eldarion wiped it roughly against his cheek, leaving a red mark. He grinned slightly, eyes flashing. A lone tendril of dark brown hair drooped across his face, and his grin widened, gaze landing on the troop of Gondor soldiers that were approaching Minas Tirith.  
  
"Ah, they return." He mused, in a deep, silky voice. "And they bear prisoners."  
  
His storm gray eyes surveyed the scene for a moment longer, before he strode away, entering the spacious hall. A group of wizened old men stood around a long rectangular table, discussing amongst themselves in low voices. As Eldarion's clattering boot steps echoed on the polished floor, they broke apart, each bowing in respect. Eldarion just snorted, motioning them to raise their heads.  
  
"My men return." He informed them, hand brushing against Anduril that lay dormant in it's sheath. "Omalnd, send a messenger to greet them. Tell General Domic that the prisoners are not to be harmed."  
  
A man on the far right nodded in response, cloak shuffling as he exited the room.  
  
Eldarion turned away, drawing his blade, letting it sing as he went through the motions he had learned from his father. Jab, turn and slice, step right, step left, blade over, blade under, jab back. Each movement was slow and calculated, almost like a dance as he glided around the room. His thoughts were vague, his concentration mostly on keeping time with the rhythym of the motions. The men around him just watched, vaguely commenting as Eldarion would slice an invisible enemy, laughing icily to himself.  
  
After a while, he stopped, sheathing the awe inspiring blade, tucking the sheath protectively around his waist.  
  
Almost, as if they had waited for the opourtunity, six guards, clad in heavy chain-mail blundered in, struggling with three figures bound with rope. Eldarion smiled, storm gray eyes flashing sharply, as he spun on his heel to greet them. Still smiling, he approached the prisoners, gaze scanning each, sizing them up as if they were meat at the slaughter house.  
  
The first was obviously an Elf, same as his companions, with white blonde hair that trailed down his shoulders, braided at the sides and around the back. Those that knew him would say he was an exact double of his father, but Eldarion did not, and simply scoffed as he growled in fury, desparately trying to fling himself at the King.  
  
The second was more slender, with unruely, fiery red hair cropped short, just long enough to be tucked behind his pointed ears. His eyes were a brilliant green, that shone with many years of wisdom, though were now clouded by an unspoken rage, which he kept calmly to himself. He was watching Eldarion with the same calculating stare, lip curling slightly in disgust.  
  
It was the third though, that surprised him.  
  
It was a woman, a tall and slender woman, dressed in man's garb, with golden blonde hair tied tightly together in a flowing braid. A quiver of arrows and bow were slung around her back, accompanied by an elegant sword sheathed at her curvy waist. The scabbard was far from plain, etched with pictures of long ago battles, and victories won, studded with jewels of scattered varieties. It glinted with every move she made, which were few. She stood tall and proud, head held high as if a Queen. Her misty blue eyes held an anger far surpassing the men beside her, blazing like a blinding beacon. To top off her warrior look, a red scar streaked down her left cheek, disrupting the ivory skin elsewhere. It covered almost half of it, suprising Eldarion slightly. Not even he had a scar as eye-catching compared. It was almost unnerving.  
  
"We captured these Ardarauko at the camp near Deadwood." The general informed him, standing somewhat apart from the other guards. All three of the captives shuddered, the blonde becoming even more enraged.  
  
"You are the Ardarauko!" he roared.  
  
Eldarion ignored him. Petty insults from Elves were nothing important. Ardarauko was a title men had given to them. 'Earth-demons' it meant. And they deserved it. Elves were scum to him.  
  
Lips pursed slightly, Eldarion took a few steps closer to the woman, meeting her furious stare head on.  
  
"What is your name, Ardarauko?" He questioned icily, hand coming up to run his thumb along the red mark on her cheek. "And where did you get such a scar?" She growled at his touch, raising her head further in a vain attempt to move out of reach. Eldarion laughed when she did not reply.  
  
"Silence is a dangerous thing." He murmured, beginning to pace slowly back and forth. "It can inform your enemy you are ready to die, tell them you are ready for the slow death they will inflict upon you. Or…"  
  
Here he paused, stopping his movement in mid-step.  
  
"Or, you can scream. Scream like a coward, scream for them to end it quickly. And they will, if you want them to. Will you scream before the end? Or will you stay silent? Silent as you are now, telling me you are ready to die."  
  
The room lapsed into heavy silence. Eldarion watched the woman closely, smiling when he saw the defeat in her eyes.  
  
"I am Eomynne. These are my brothers, Caelidur and Elleduil."  
  
"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" The general sneered, moving to stand beside his King. Eldarion slung a brotherly arm over his shoulder, laughing softly to himself.  
  
"Quite a fiesty bunch, would you not agree Domic?" He asked. "Though Eomynne strangest of all. Where do you suppose she got that scar?"  
  
Domic snorted.  
  
"I suppose she spread her legs for an unworthy man, then tried to get away when she was unsatisfied, as any road-side whore would. Like any man, her whim became enraged, then attacked her. That's what I would bet."  
  
Eldarion laughed again when he saw the obvious outrage on all three captive's face, more so on the men, than on Eomynne. They struggled more fiercly against their bonds, Elleduil's rage finally releasing itself.  
  
"I agree Domic, I agree." Eldarion muttered slyly, still inspecting the three. "Perhaps I should send her to your quarters. She should learn how to satisfy a man, without becoming the victim of attack. Running after bedding with a general, would not be the worst of her troubles."  
  
Both men erupted into hollers of laughter, joined slightly by the still silent advisors standing nearby.  
  
Caelidur nearly exploded with rage, nostrils flared, teeth bared slightly.  
  
"How dare you talk about my sister as such?!" He roared, fighting madly with the guard that held him bonded. "If your men did not hold me, you would not say such things! When I am free, my sword shall sing the joyous melody of your death Eldarion!"  
  
The King merely scoffed.  
  
"You will never be free." He said levely, daring to step closer to the engraged Elf, holding his chin firmly. "You are mine now, and forever will you be mine. Capturing you is only the beginning."  
  
"What do you mean?" came Elleduil's strangely calm voice, though his eyes sang a different tune.  
  
Eldarion smiled.  
  
"You will know soon enough Ardarauko. " Then with a great flourish of his ring-adorned hand, the guards heaved them away followed by the wizened advisors, leaving Domic and himself alone.  
  
Eldarion turned to his friend, confused by the look of bewilderment on the general's face.  
  
"What is it?" he asked lightly, drawing Anduril again, dancing the different motions, gliding across the floor.  
  
"I do not know." Domic answered. "I just have this strange feeling that I cannot place."  
  
Eldarion sighed, stopping for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. "I too have that feeling." He mused, once again launching into swings and slices. "Though I have not felt it before."  
  
Domic nodded slowly, then slumped into a nearby chair, rubbing his temples.  
  
"Whatever it is, perhaps a night with the Lady will push it aside." He chuckled evily. "I have heard Elves are unmatchable in bed."  
  
Eldarion grinned devilishly, licking his lips.  
  
"Yes, I too have heard such things, though I have yet to find out."  
  
Domic chuckled again, then pulled himself to his feet, drawing his own blade, the clang of metal on metal filling the silent air. 


	3. Midnight

A/N: Well, chapter three's here! Sorry for such a wait. I've had serious writers block trying to figure out what Eldarion's going to look like…..and what's going to happen next…..and when I'm going to post my slash fic….*realizes that her slash fic is very irrelevant in this A/N* Ooops….lol ~_^. Anywayz, thank you to Brin and Cinda! My first two reviewers! You know I luv ya! Hope you enjoy this…  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. ANYTHING. Don't get your panties in a twist.  
  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
  
  
  
Still struggling slightly, Eomynne and her brother's were dragged down a long hallway off the main hall where they'd met Eldarion for the first time. Eomynne couldn't deny she'd expected him to be different. The Eldarion she'd imagined was no where near as beautifull as he. Arwen must have given him that….She thought bitterly. Eldarion did not deserve it. He was about as tall as Eomynne, muscluar and yet very slender at the same time, with ever so slight curly dark brown hair that was fell in soft, straight folds to just around his shoulders. His face was smooth, with high cheekbones accented by the fair skin. And his eyes, a steely platinum silver that always seemed to flash-whether with an icy chill or evil mirth- drove daggers of fear into all who looked upon him. It had been those very eyes that weakened Eomynne, had forced her to reveal her identity, and the identity of their brothers. And it was those eyes that read her like an open book, as though every thought, every feeling or desire was laid bare for him to see.  
  
Eomynne could not hide from him.  
  
It was more than unnerving, it was maddening.  
  
Her heart was slightly more at ease now, away from his presence, though a shadow of anxiety and fear still hovered above them all. She did not know whether her brothers felt the same. She did not know if Eldarion could see them too. All she knew now was they were in Minas Tirith, in his country, in his city, in his very hands.  
  
There was now way out now.  
  
The hallway was a long one, almost like a main corridor, that separated off into other smaller halls,or ones just as large. Large stone pillars were placed at their entrances, stretching high to the arched ceiling of clear glass, that allowed the otherwise dim passageway to be lit into life by shafts of light which poured through. Eomynne did not know what lay down these certain stretches of stone, for the guards kept them going at a swift pace, and any time they would draw near one, they passed it so quickly there was scarce time to take anything in. Eomynne was slightly dissapointed at this,for getting to know this montrous labrynth of passageways would be an advantage if she were ever to escape. If.  
  
At that very moment, escape seemed as far out of reach as the sword Eomynne had lost in the battle.  
  
Sighing inwardly, she let herself be led along further, barely glancing at her brothers who strode alongside her. After what seemed like an eternity, the hall ended, their progress blocked by two large stone doors, with circled handles of jade placed in the center. The lead guard stepped forward, rapping three times. There was a muffled chink of armour from the other side, then a loud scraping as they were dragged apart. The relatively drab corridor, decorated sparsely with long wall tapestries behind them, they stepped into an entirely different enviroment.  
  
Fresh air poured into Eomynne's lungs as she took a deep, satisfying breath, wincing as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine. They were in a hugely vast courtyard, stretching for what seemed like a hundred yards in each direction, protected by high walls of granite, a small lookout house at each corner. The entire expanse was an enormous garden, alive with the sounds and smells of life. Birds chattered happily in the numerous, towering weeping-willows, the intoxicating scent of flowers and rich, bright green grass, filling Eomynne's nostrils. Creeping vines ran up the walls in a spiraling dance, dotted with roses of scattered varieties, and blooming buds that she could not even name. A single stone path stretched diagonally and horizontaly from where Eomynne stood, coming together in the center like a window, where a white gazibo* was placed, draped in a canopy of sky-blue material that blew softly in the gentle breeze. Around the courtyard was another pathway, a slanted roof held in place by smaller pillars, that covered parts in shadow. There were two doorways to every side of the courtyard, each placed at oposite ends, indicating large rooms beyond.  
  
Eomynne was led to one such doorway, on the east side, while Elleduil and Caelidur were directed towards those on the west. Eomynne strained her neck to gaze longingly at them as they departed, but the two guards that held her arms jerked her forward again, leaving her heart to ache painfully as she thought of what might await them now. Now that they were separated.  
  
Together they were strong. Separated they were weak.  
  
Eomynne did not know if she could withstand Eldarion alone. She only hoped her brothers would fare better.  
  
"Eldarion has ordered you are left here." One of her guards grunted, in a voice that was quite monotone. "Suitable clothes and washing materials have been left for you. You may use them as needed. However, you will stay in this room, and go nowhere else, until His Highness allows you access to other parts of his palace. Until then, go nowhere, and do nothing. Is that understood?"  
  
Eomynne nodded reluctantly, then was shoved into the awaiting room, the door slamming shut behind her, followed by the click of the lock. With a great sigh, she stumbled forward, briefly taking in her surroundings, before collapsing with a muffled sob on the King sized bed. With what strength was left in her, she pulled the gold canopy around the four- poster, curling into a tight ball and squeezing her blood encrusted eyes shut. It wasn't until she lay on the soft material, did Eomynne suddenly realize how horrible she felt. A pulsing headache pounded heavily in her ears, the better part of her skull slicked with dried blood from where it had crumbled under the impact of the stone she had fell onto only five nights previous. The Gondor men had taken her to a hospital tent, where it had been professionally stitched back together, then they had pumped her full of herbal medicines to ease the pain and heal what her Elven abilities could not. For days afterwards, the vile liquids had done their job, while at the same time bringing much grief to Eomynne's already shocked and exhausted body. They had not agreed with her stomach, causing what ever she ate, be it large or small, to come straight back up, giving Eomynne nights of unavoidable vomiting, limbs shaking and convulsing under the stress. Now she lay deflated on her new bed, trembling and sobbing, shivering with the fever that was now wracking her defenseless body.  
  
"Sweet Elbereth….give me rest…"she pleaded silently, before passing out.  
  
**  
  
Sometime later, Eomynne became dimly aware of a figure leaning over her, hard lips caressing her neck gently. The bed felt weighted down more than her lithe form could sink, two pressure points on either side of her. Two by her head, two by her shins. Soft tendrils of what could only be hair tickled her face, and she almost smiled, before realizing what was happening. Stomach dissolving, Eomynne cried out, trying to roll away. Her captor's lips lost contact with her neck, a low growl sounding close to her ear. They lashed out, a firm hand gripping her arm, forcing her underneath him yet again. She screamed once, before her own lips were crushed by his mouth, a hot tongue pushing them apart. Eomynne moaned unintentionally, wrtithing with pleasure as his hands crawled up her thighs. Silver tears streamed down her cheeks, tears of fear and pain.  
  
"This must have been what mother went through……" she thought briefly, before gasping in a breath of air, the deep kiss ending. The man continued though, stripping Eomynne of her dirty garments and tossing them to the floor. His hands were experienced, knowing exactly where to touch, and how to touch, causing cries and moans from deep inside her.  
  
Part of Eomynne was enjoying the experience, and part was screaming and sobbing for it to end.  
  
His lips seemed to kiss every inch of skin, every space not yet explored, his hard and toned body moving with hers. There was a clink of metal as his belt was unlatched, followed by a soft thud of his own clothes landing with Eomynne's. Sudden reality hit hard, when she realized what was going to happen.  
  
With a cry, he gripped her shoulders tightly, thrusting himself into her.  
  
Eomynne gasped in pain, her back arching away from the sheets, some parts sticking to her sweat slicked back. She moaned in pleasure though, when the sweet heat that flooded her body, aroused her senses and released her tightly strung muscles. Once more, his lips covered hers, his hands holding her trembling body against his, thrusting again and again, moving with her as she gasped and arched every time, rolling and trying to break free.  
  
Why wouldn't he stop? Why wouldn't he just leave?  
  
It was so pleasurable, and yet so violating. She had been a virgin, now loosing her last shred of innocence in her unknown captors arms. At least he should tell her his name. At the very least. But all he did was cry out her name with every climax of his seemingly unquenchable desire.  
  
Cry out her name.  
  
Only Eldarion, Domic and the guards knew her name.  
  
It was one of them.  
  
Eyes flashing open, adjusting to the now moonlit chamber, she franticly tried to recognize the man. But she could not see him. Shadow obscured his face, and anything she could have used to identify him. Eomynne almost sobbed in frustration, his mouth now on her neck once more, his tongue running up to nibble the tip of her pointed ear. Rolling her head to one side, she finally gave in, stopping her battle against him. Her tear filled eyes landed on the small bed-stand placed within arms reach, where an unsheathed dagger lay. Instinct seizing her, Eomynne grasped the blade and raked it along her captors exposed back, drawing a deep wound there.  
  
He cried out in pain, moving away quickly as if burned. Grasping the steadily bleeding slash, he hobbled to his pile of clothes, putting them on as fast as possible. Eomynne just lay gasping for air on the bed, not even caring anymore of what he might do now. Once finished, he stood tall, a hiss of pain escaping his bleeding lips. He flashed her a grim smile, the only part of him not covered by dense shadow.  
  
"You were quite satisfying to me." He murmured. "Perhaps I will return to taste you again. But I assure you, I will not be as mercifull as I was."  
  
With a swish of his cloak he was gone, leaving Eomynne sobbing with anguish, trembling naked upon the sweat soaked sheets.  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry it's kinda shorter than the other ones…but I wanted to get this out to you guys and it's really late. So I hope you enjoyed this somewhat shorter chapter, and please continue to REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!!! *sniggers bleakly* This is what happens when I read to much Slash…..~_^ 


	4. Prisoner

A/U: Phew!!! Holy smokes! Has it been a long time or what guys?! A few months maybe….Jeeze! I'm such a procrastinator. I'm really bad at getting to updates, but hey, things have been one hellova pain in the butt lately. Just haven't had the time. You know how things get huh? But anywayz, here's chapter four, a hopefully good enough chapter to make up for that sorry excuse of a chapter I put up eons ago. And boy, I know that chptr three sucked beyond belief. But enough rambling! I know you all hate RAMBLING, so I won't spare you the details. Enjoy and REVIEW!!!!!

Chapter Four

Eomynne slept longer in a hazy state of lethal fever than she would ever care to guess at. The nights were long and filled with frightening nightmares that left her fearing sleep. Cold sweat was almost a friend, sparing her the head pounding heat that her fever would sometimes wrack upon her ravaged and bruised body. Shivering spells and periods of dry-heaving were commonplace, and became almost expected. And above everything that made Eomynne wish for death, trying to forget and push away that one terrible midnight made her exhausted and scared. She knew well and truly that sleep would only give that man another chance, and many a dark and lonely night was spent sitting at vigil, waiting for him to reappear. But he never came, and sometimes Eomynne would grant herself those precious hours of sleep, that might just give her body a chance to recover, even if they were interuppted by more nightmares that became worse every time. 

On once such night, Eomynne sat square in the middle of her unmade bed, hugging her knees tightly, eyes never leaving the door that was almost indistinguishable in the darkness. During her days of trauma, she had never bothered to find any more clothes, after the warriors garments had been torn off so ruthlessly. There was simply no need to exhaust her already limited strength trying to dress, since no one every came in to the large and spacious room. Just keeping her eyes open and keeping each ragged breath even, was more than enough. Hunger had been ignored aswell after the first morning. Eomynne had soon discovered that her stomach would except no such offerings. The second morning, she had tried to eat a small apple lying in a bowl by the bed, and saw it once more very soon. After the next few days, she had simply begun to forget about it, concentrating on her vigil more than anything, and escaping from the emotionally straining nightmares. 

Gaze leaving the door for a moment, Eomynne's eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping her parched and dry throat, a sigh which sounded more like the scaping of sand-paper. Her meager energy had begun to fade quite quickly, and suddenly, Eomynne felt no more reserve to continue on. A tear slid slowly down her pale and hollowed cheek, cool against the burning skin. 

Quicker than what she was accustomed to, Eomynne began to feel her consciousness threading away, strings of darkness and horrid dreams replacing it. She willed herself to escape the nightmare, to feign sleep once more. But she was just so tired……

A sudden creak by her door left all thoughts of sleep in the dust.

Sitting bolt upright, Eomynne's bloot-shot, somewhat silvery blue eyes focused on the small trail of light that began to creep across the floor. The tiny hairs on her neck stood, blood turning to ice. Her heart was beating so erratically and loud, she was certain whoever was outside could hear it. Whatever colour there had been on her face drained as the door opened fully, the shadow of a broad shouldered figure appearing in the milky moonlight which could only be a man. 

Limbs frozen with unrivalled fear, Eomynne could only sit and watch as they approached slowly at a slow saunter, almost as if he had known she was waiting for him, and had no need for stealth. Her gaze darted to the bedstand, where the still blood-coated dagger lay dormant. She had used it once. She would surely use it again if nessicary. Closer and closer he came, closer to the shaft of light beaming through her window, the light that would tell Eomynne who he was. Once again her gaze left him, darting to the open doorway. She could probably make it, if she stabbed him quickly and effectively. Then she would get Caelidur and Elleduil if they were un-guarded, and together they would escape….

Without warning, he lunged at her, grabbing her wrist and flinging her down on the bed.

Eomynne's mouth is open in a silent scream, eyes wide with disbelief and terror beyond terror. 

"Why are you doing this Ardarauko?!" Eldarion hissed, his eyes spitting ice. "Do you intend to starve youself and let your body wallow in sickness until you die?!"

Eomynne did not answer. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, a maelstrom of words and screaming voices. There was this mute ache inside of her, as if she shouldn't have been surprised it was Eldarion all along. He was the someone who would do such things. But all the same she was caught off balance by this. She knew she would never be safe again. If Eldarion was her asaulter, he would do whatever he pleased with her. There would be no escape….no freedom….She would die in this room, in his arms as he ravaged her over and over. That was the way it would be. 

"Why?!" Eomynne choked, her throat suddenly constricting into a knot. "Why did you come and hurt me as you did?! There are plenty of women in this cursed place that would be your whore! Why choose the only one who has no choice?!"

"What?!" Eldarion shouted, leaning over her with a menacing smile curving his lips. "You were raped?!"

An icy laugh peeled through the silent night. Eomynne shivered, suddenly wishing she had dressed herself. 

"Answer me when I ask you a question Ardarauko." Eldarion continued somewhat quieter. "Were you raped?"

Eomynne could not find her voice. She felt relief building inside of her, a kind of sick, morbid relief that held no ease to her sleepless nights. Eldarion could be lying. He could very well have done it….

"Yes." She croaked, wishing with all her might that he wasn't so close. His breath scorched her already fever burned cheeks, his body was leaning over her, so close she could almost see the corded muscle on his chest ripple when he moved. Oh he was so close….Why wouldn't he just leave….?

Suddenly, as if reading her very thoughts, he moved back, and stood with arms folded at the foot of her bed. Despite backing off, the amused smile remained, and Eomynne shivered again, holding her knees close, trying furtively to cover her nakedness. There was silence for a long while, and Eldarion's cold eyes never left hers. They were stripping her, layer by layer. She could almost feel him moving inside her head, knowing her emotions, knowing her aches and pains, knowing her inner most secrets. It was terribly unnerving, and Eomynne wanted to look away, but her gaze was held, and she would look away when Eldarion wanted her to look away.

"Who was it?" he finally asked, voice tight. 

Eomynne shivered again, pulling her eyes away from his with much strain. "I don't know." She whispered, somewhat shakily. "I didn't see. I hurt him….to—to make him stop, so it would be easy to find out….."

"I have no urge to make amends for this." Eldarion replied, chuckling coldly to himself, "You are no fine lady, who's stolen innocence should be avenged by blood and sword. What befalls you here is of no concern to me, though I will make sure this certain….inconveiniance does not occur again. I will make it known that no man or woman will lay a hand on you besides myself."

Eomynne was not assured in the slightest. If anything, her worries were doubled, for at least a man of middle class would have some difficulty coming again. Eldarion had all power. He would do anything as it pleased him. Guards were of no concern to him. They did not care what happened to her, and even the most foolhardy would never stand against the King's word. Eldarion's word was law, and all would abide by it.

There was a polite knock by the open door, and Eldarion turned, regarding the two maids hovering just outside. Their faces harboured nothing but deepest respect, though their eyes told a different story. There was a wild fear about them, and Eomynne noticed the slightest of shivers slide through the first's slim frame. Perhaps Eldarion thought his people were devoted folk, with nothing but admiration and respect for him, but Eomynne could tell different. 

"My Lord." The first whispered, her eyes demurely downcast. "Is the---ah…Lady ready?"

Eldarion glanced back at Eomynne. "Ready enough." He said with a little smile, voice low.

Without further order, the two of them bustled into the room, bathing oils, a basin, a comb and a fine gown in hand. Perhaps they thought Eomynne would listen without question, but she did nothing of the sort. She stared unblinking at Eldarion where he had seated himself in a chair by her bed, long legs stretched and crossed before him. He stared back, that little smile never leaving his lips. The two maids glanced at eachother, lips thinned, until the second, a short, matronly, plumpish old woman spoke up.

"My Lord." She said firmly, in a no-nonsense voice that spoke of all authority in the matter. "Would it not be proper to leave while the Lady bathes and changes? You shame her by remaining even now."

"She is no Lady." He replied, eyes glinting dangerously. "And she has no shame."

There was a heavy pause.

"As you wish my Lord."

The two set about their work, and Eomynne had no choice but to listen and do as they bid. They scrubbed purposefully at the grime on her skin, frowning a little at the purple bruises blooming about her wrists and hips. Neither said a word, but they cast another glance between them, an unspoken message in their eyes. With patience they washed and combed out her hair, letting it fall down Eomynne's back silky and smooth as it had once been. 

"What lovely hair." The young one said, almost in awe. "It is like spun gold, would you not agree Manille?"

Manille cast a judging eye over the long strands, muttering "Tis not uncommon among her kind Vera."

The first fell silent, and continued her combing, while Manille dressed Eomynne in a fine gown of yellow velvet, with a low, drooping neckline of loose fabric. She muttered to herself, placing a stitch here and a tuck there until she pronounced herself satisfied. A small oak box appeared from her basket, which Eomynne soon found to contain little jars of lovely perfume, powders of various colours and shades and a cream of deepest rose. Manille applied the mixtures to Eomynne's face, and she assumed these things were used by women to make themselves more beautifull. 

"How could such a lovely creature as yourself happen upon such a horrid scar?" Vera whispered, inspecting the long mark slicing down Eomynne's cheek. She refrained from answer. Whether Vera thought her mute or not, Eomynne would never recall that story. For her, it was too close. There was no telling how much courage it would take to say such things, and not break down in sobs at just the mention of her brother. To her surprise, it was Eldarion who suplied a sufficient reply, though it could not have been more wrong.

"This Ardarauko may seem a creature of grace and beauty," he murmured, eyeing Eomynne steadily, "but underneath there is nothing but a killer of the worst kind. In her capture, nearly one third of my men were killed, their wives widowed and their children denied a father. That is pure sin, and I have no doubts as to how she claimed the scar which she bears."

Once again, Vera was struck silent, glancing furtively at Manille who seemed not to hear a word Eldarion said. Her startled gaze shifted to Eomynne, but she had no answers for the distressed woman. To deny would mean she would be forced to tell the tale, and that was one thing she could not do. Without even looking, she could see Eldarion's triumphant smile, chilling her to the core. 

The rest of Vera and Manille's work passed without further discussion, and soon, Eomynne was standing like some prize of war before Eldarion, his icy granite eyes burning through her while he inspected the maid's handiwork. Eomynne shivered at his scrutiny, wishing with all her might that she could dissapear, that she could be back in the Haven with Haldir, and her brothers, her mother and father. Legolas had said it would be a hard, and daunting task. How could she have known it would be this hard?

The only relief, was her passing fever. She'd been given a sweet smelling concoction from Manille to battle the ill humours, and already the heat was nearly gone from her brow, and her stomach seemed to be willing for some simple fare. Eomynne was pleased with this, though still a trifle unsettled, for it was Elven blood that flowed in her veins, as surely as the sun rose and set, and yet her body had not fought the sickness and healed her without help of herbal remedy. It was the same with her disfiguring scar. To any other Elf, the gash would have healed, and no mark would remain. Perhaps, because her Mother had once been human, the ability was somewhat dampened. Whatever the reason, she intended to find out.

"Thank-you for your assistance." Eldarion said lightly, as if he did not care in the slightest. "The Ardarauko in my care now. You may return to your chambers for food and drink. Your regular duties resume on the morrow."

Manille nodded gravely, and Vera bobbed an awkward curtsy, then they were gone.

Eldarion turned his attention to Eomynne, his expression ammused. "Those two are far different than others you will meet here." He informed her. "Their views on your evil kin are somewhat…..differed than those of my court. Do not expect to receive such light treatment from any other, for if you believe such nonsense, your days are numbered indeed."

Without permission, he looped his arm through Eomynne's, gripping her wrist when she flinched away. A mirthless smile stretched his lips, showing straight white teeth underneath.

"It is proper behavior for a Lady." He whispered, close to her ear. "It shows she is claimed, and under her Lord's total control. Leave my side tonight and you will find that your safety is unguaranteed. None would dare approach you while you belong to me. On your own….is a different matter entirely."

Eomynne did not let herself think about what he meant. 

With a tug, they were off, walking briskly down the narrow pathway, the pillars which held the overhanging roof in place casting long shadows across the stone. Eldarion kept a quick pace, unusually silent. The quiet was a blessing for Eomynne. There was altogether too much noise in Gondor. She longed for the peaceful fields of the Haven, broad hills and valleys carpeted in green. She wished for the cool serenity of the Golden Wood, or the dark, silent forest of Mirkwood. Her father had spoken much of both. It was a tragedy that they were now a mere memory, long destroyed by Eldarion's men on his mission of blind revenge. Not even Rivendell had been spared, regardless of the home it had once been to his own father. Eomynne was glad the Lord Elrond, or Lady Galadriel, had not been present in the moment of their domain's destruction. They had already left for the Haven by that time. Legolas' own father, Thranduil, was one of the many dead that now littered the expanse of his beautiful home, where the mosses had crept over bone and flesh alike in the years past. He had not been so lucky. Perhaps now the only thing that remained was a stitch of a fine robe, or one silky strand of hair caught in the breeze; the breeze that mourned the death of the earth's most beloved children. 

Finally, once they had passed the labriynth of passageways and high glass ceilings Eomynne had wondered at on the first day, and were now approaching a set of tall oak doors that seemed to stretch up forever, did Eldarion speak.

"In case you have not already guessed, I am hosting a ball." There was a smirk on his face that Eomynne itched to slap off. "I have decided to bring you before my people, to let them see you for what you really are. Your brothers will be present…" the smirk widened at Eomynne's shocked expression. "Yes my dear they will be there. I dare say I've had enough trouble trying to get them to speak, to give me something….._anything_ as to the whereabouts of your dirty race, because I know they're somewhere. It's only a matter of time before I find them. They say only the Elves know where your precious Haven is. Maybe, sooner than you think, all will know. Justice will be done."

Breathe Eomynne. Breathe and be strong….

The very thought of Eldarion going anywhere near the Haven made Eomynne tremble with panic and horror. He could never find it. Never. She didn't want to imagine what evil he would spread once he set his dirty boots on the pure soil of her home. Mass panic would ensue. None would be safe from the stretch of his hand. 

"They will never tell you." She hissed. "They would rather die."

Eldarion looked thoughtful. "Perhaps that is the solution. Then you might let loose that priceless information instead. Tell me, how much could you stand to see my dear; how much are you willing to loose before you find there is no solution but to speak?"

Eomynne's blood ran cold.

"I thought so." Eldarion said to himself, no doubt noticing some effect to his words. 

Without further talk, the King rapped on the doors neatly with a well manicured hand, casting a quick glance in Eomynne's direction before ushering her inside as the giant slabs of oak were opened. 

It was beautiful. There was no other word to describe such architecture, such skill and such loveliness. Eomynne had never seen a structure as large. The glass ceiling, not unlike that of the labryinth, rose to unmeasurable heights, a dozen glass chandeliers illuminating the vast room and outshining the stars. The floor was a sweep of polished marble, so clear it was almost as if they walked on a mirror instead. Long arching windows seemed to touch the sky, meeting so sweetly with the dome ceiling above it, their frames of crafted silver. And the people. Eomynne was rocked to be in the vicinity of so many folk at one time. The throng that bustled about and craned their necks to see her as they passed, were sparkling beauties and handsome men, nothing more, nothing less. The blaze of light caught diamond necklace and silk gown alike, spraying them into a flamboyant explosion of glittering stars and shifting fabric. The dresses were beyond words, the shimmering hair tied up in artful creations instead flying free as that of her people. The sound was almost defeaning, until a hush spread over the crowd upon noticing Eomynne's presence, and a wave of whispers rolled about them. There was no blocking out the comments of those close to her, no matter how embarassing or rude.

"An Elf." One whispered to his friend. "And a fair beauty if I ever saw one."

"Beauty?" The other scoffed, wrinkling his nose in discust. "I see no such thing. Nothing but dirty they are. Not fit for even the lowliest farmer's bed."

Snatches from jealous and arrogent ladies.

"…..man must satisfy his needs…….only reason….."

"….man stealers they are…..once they draw their net….never even glance at another woman….."

And the more bold.

"Look at her." Another murmured, a hunger in his gaze. "Wouldn't mind a bout myself…if Eldarion's up for sharing that is." His partner gave a smile, whispering something under his breath.

Eldarion was oblivious to the entire shirade, though there was an unmistakable glint in his eye that showed he was listening very intently, and storing up the important for later. His grip was firm in her arm the entire time, almost a protective gesture, and Eomynne caught the disgusted looks of the fair ladies as she was whisked by, sharp gazes that shot daggers. She could feel the eyes of every person in that hall on her, and shivered involuntarily, trying to mask her fear. 

Once they were seated at the King's table, above the dance floor on a high dais, did one tall man speak aloud.

"My Lord." He said, his voice quiet and yet seemed to carry through the entire room. "We welcome your presence here tonight. It has been a long and nearly fruitless season, your people are weary and in need of a firm hand. The threat of the Ardarauko—" his calm grey eyes flicked to Eomynne for just the briefest of moments, "—has finally been eradicated. Your people crave peace, and you have finally given them what they desire. Hail King Eldarion!"

"Hail King Eldarion!" was the echo, strong and resonating through the crowd.

Eldarion simply smiled, no doubt pleased which such a fine display of words. "Your good faith pleases me Simeon. Tell me, do all your brothers feel the same on such a weighty matter?"

"Of course." The fine lord replied, not a strain of doubt in his smooth voice.

There was a heavy pause.

"But…" he continued, somewhat reluctantly. "The one thing I fail to understand, is why you would choose to bring the very thing you despise to utterly into the heart of your court, dressed in all the finery and loveliness deserving of a Lady, when her evil kin destroy and mutilate for no good purpose, wreaking havoc on the land you fight to preserve."

There was an edge to his tone now, a kind of trembling bewilderment full to the brim with emotion that he could not hide despite all power of will. There were murmurings of agreement amongst the lords and ladies, and Eomynne shifted uneasily in her seat.

"Ah, always the first to point out the obvious." Eldarion purred. "I have always liked that about you Simeon. Straight to the point. Blunt. Never hide what you feel is right."

There was a taunt hidden somewhere in the silken folds of his voice, a kind of false praise that only the three of them could notice. Eomynne almost felt sorry for the man, the lines on his face more prominent in his old age. There was no doubting his seniority to Eldarion, by at least twenty years, if not more, and the golden curls that framed his strong jaw were somewhat dulled, touched gray at the temples. He'd once been a handsome man. Eomynne could almost see the youth in his long, straight nose, serene granite eyes and set chin, his firm shoulders and long slender arms. He'd once been something great, though age now seemed to creep up uninvited.

"You owe your people an answer." He said, strong and authoritive.

"I suppose I do don't I?" Eldarion mused, glancing at Eomynne again.

There was an expectant hush, and Eomynne felt a shiver strike up her spine, though she knew not why she should be afraid. Her eyes roamed the throng of be-jeweled bodies, trying desperately to pick out her brothers. They seemed to be nowhere, and a stab of agony sliced through her belly. Eldarion had said they would be here….He had said….

"Not two weeks ago, my troup of men, camped along the borders of Deadwood, were ambushed by three Ardarauko who had somehow crept unnoticed into the tent which housed more of their enslaved kin." Eldarion began, threading pretty words into his narative. "The woman, who sits by my side at this very moment, was the first to fight, though was not unaided for long. The two brothers came soon enough, and through them, your husbands were killed, your fathers were torn by sword and arrow alike, your brothers were denied the life given to them. Every man struck down was somebody's father, brother, lover. It is a cruel fate. Fortuneately enough, before more were slain, another force came upon the fray and soon dissabled all three Ardarauko. They are my prisoners now."

There was a gasp of horror as a side door was thrown open, a set of five guards dragging in two haggard men. But they were not men, not in the least. Eomynne's heart leapt to her throat at the familiar blaze of Elleduil's hair catching the light and sparkling copper, and Caelidur's cold blue eyes, a mirror to his fathers, spat ice and he growled hoarse Elvish curses at his captors.

Eldarion's smile was the stuff of nightmares, a sight to chill the bone. His eyes sparked with perverted pleasure, burning hotter as Caelidur turned his threats to him, screaming for all he was worth.

"Lay a hand on her and you assure your own demise Eldarion!"

"Be silent" Elleduil ordered, anger brimming in his normally calm voice.

Caelidur would not be silenced. "I swear, by Elbereth, when this is over, I will hew the very head from your shoulders scum!" he hissed, and Eomynne knew he was not bluffing. Given half a chance, the King of Gondor would be struck down by him before he had even time to draw breath. Caelidur did not make idle threats. Whatever he said, he intended to do.

"When this is over?" Eldarion repeated hautily. "When this is over, you will be long dead, your bones picked white by crow and raven. I do not wish to keep your foul presence in my home longer than I must. Know that, Ardarauko, and do not spit your curses at me, or it may be your dear sister who next recieves the brunt of my blow."

That was it. The guards had to physically bring him down with a well calculated blow, before Caelidur would be dragged away. If they hadn't, Eomynne was quite sure he could have broken the steel chains that bound him, and then who knew what havoc he would bring? Eomynne knew that more than just Eldarion would pay. Caelidur's blood-lust ran much farther than him. Much farther. 

There was a distraught and frightened pause once Eomynne's brothers had left. No doubt every attendant was unsettled and wary at such a bold, and fiery display of rage, and there were more than a few men trying to hold their wives dead weight in their arms. 

"As you can see," Eldarion began, as if nothing had happened, "the Aradarauko are a barbaric and evil race. I must beg your forgiveness. I had no notion that they would….speak in such a way. Their dirty tongue is not for a woman's ears. But please, let me finish my story."

Another silence.

"Now that they are my prisioners, I will extract important information from them, in one way or another. Their silence will not hold for long, especially when they are so closely tied. Threaten one, and the other two are straining at their leash like some hound frothing at the mouth. I cannot reveal my entire plan though, for it cannot be denied that their have been leaks, spills to the enemy. What I say here might be just as easily repeated to ears not of mankind."

"They might be of hostage value." One put in, stepping forward. I recognized him as Domic, Eldarion's captain.

"How are we to know?" Simeon queried, frowning.

Domic smiled ruefully. "Surely I cannot be the only one who does not recognize the son of Legolas Greenleaf? The one who spat threats at you so maliciously, was a mirror image to that of the Elven Prince. It could not have been any other."

There was a dangerous gleam in Eldarion's eye. Eomynne could almost feel the building anger rising off him in waves, and shifted nervously in her seat. Domic had guessed right on the mark. It was unsettling. 

"Legolas Greenleaf." He rumbled, low in his throat. "My father never told me he bore children. The only woman for his eyes was the witch, the sorceress, who harnessed the True Ring that came so close to destroying us all. There was no other. Would not let his precious beauty slip through his fingers. Was after her like a bitch in heat; digusting, blasphemous. It was a blessing she was killed when she was."

Eomynne bit back her reply, forced into her seat by fear. She was trembling, horribly. She'd never been more afraid. Eldarion could inspire a terror none had the will to escape.

"That may be true," Simeon admitted, a slightly disgusted look to his serene features, "but might he have found another to fill her place? The race of Ardarauko are no ogres, or monsters. Take the Lady, for instance. I'm sure no man would turn his nose to such beauty if not for what she is, and the evil blood she bears."

"Hmm." Eldarion murmured, eyes trained on Eomynne's shivering figure. She had no doubt as to what he was thinking. _Perhaps not all care for her pedigree, if they have a place to sow their wild oats_.

"I will take into consideration what you impose Domic." He said. "Then she shall see."

"Thank you my Lord." Domic replied, bowing away into the crowd again. 

"Now," Simeon raised his voice, arms held high, "return to your celebration people of Gondor, for victory is close at hand!"

There was a reasonable cheer, mostly from the men, though a few peels of laughter burst from the women's finely be-jeweled throats. With that, the ball was once again in full motion, stringed instruments harping away on a secluded platform. A low buzz of talk hummed above the music, lively and excited. There were less furitive glances in Eomynne's direction, and she thankfully was able to keep to herself. She had no wish to be part of this celebration, in which the people cheered for joy over the defeat of her kin, that they seemed to think was close at hand. Melting into her chair, not drawing any undue attention, that was her goal. If she could just do that, then maybe she would survive the night…..

"Ardarauko." Came a hiss in her ear.

Eomynne had been so absorbed in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed someone had been trying to get her attention. With a muffled cry, she jerked, and meet Eldarion's cool gaze. He was smiling again.

"Care for a dance?" he purred, rubbing his thumb along the top of her white hand. 

Eomynne's heart recoiled at the thought, her stomach churning uneasily.

"Don't get fidgity. I wasn't intending to share a bed for the night, little slut. Must put on a good show, you know. Let them see I've tamed the savage beast."

Eomynne muttered a sharp Elvish curse under her breath, spitting acurately on his finely polished boot. Eldarion's eyes flashed, turning a turbulent storm grey. He squeezed her hand tightly, and Eomynne bit back a yelp of agonizing pain. His gaze spoke an alarmingly clear message: Do not argue. That was not a question. It was an order.

Eomynne had no choice. Though her insides turned, and the thought of making an exhibition of herself, like this seemingly harmless dance would do, made her near faint with horror. This was not how it was supposed to work. Prisioners were kept in cells, away from folk's eyes, not paraded around in diamonds and fine silks, the King a constant shadow as if they belonged to him and him alone. 

Eomynne sighed, the defeat showing on her face.

Eldarion nodded, then stood, taking her hand and leading her to the marble floor, meshing into the crowd. The music had changed to a lilting waltz, and they moved slowly together, Eomynne's hand resting hesitantly upon Eldarion's shoulder, and his placed protectively on her waist. Their intwined palms burned against eachother, ice on fire, hot on cold. Eomynne's cheeks were flushed with embarassment, and she could feel each and every pair of eyes on them, a sizzling brand on her exposed back. She wished desperately that she could dissapear, and escape their judging and hatefull gazes, their whispers and comments. They spoke as if she were a million miles away, not within hearing distance of every cruel barb they slung without scruples. It was a horrible experience, not one Eomynne would gladly repeat. 

Eldarion moved in closer, and Eomynne shivered as his firm chest brushed lightly against hers, his lips feather soft as they moved against her neck.

"They're watching." He whispered.

As if I don't know, she thought petulantly.

"Should give them a good show. They want to see it. They burn to see it. And I assure you, there is not one man in this entire hall who would not want to be in my place."

Eomynne did not let herself think about that. She cast a quick glance around the room, as far as she could see, and met many gazes, though the eyes of the men she caught sent a chill down her spine. 

"I cannot do this." She whispered, and for the first time, Eldarion actually listened. Without a word, he was gone, and she was left stunned, standing umcomfortably in the fray. He was not far, she could have felt his icy grey eyes a mile off, and they watched. She would never be out of his sight.

With a feeble sigh, Eomynne wove through the sea of bodies, and tried to think of better things.

A/N: Well here it is! Enjoy, and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!!! And again I'm sorry for this being so late. Hope it's long enough to make up for my neglect. 


	5. Reunion

A/N: Oki. I'm back into the swing of things. School has started up again and homework is in abundance.*sigh* Just so you know, I only have the weekends to work on this fic, therefore the chps might be coming slow. It really depends on how long I write. And don't say it, because I KNOW that chapter four took too long, and I KNOW how much it grinds on people's nerves when authors take forever to update, because it happens to me too. I've had to wait forever for some things too, so you're not alone in this. However, I just have no choice in the matter. My dad works at home and so he's always on the computer. The only time I have is weekends(if I don't have any homework) and that isn't much. Please bear with me. So here's chapter five, and enjoy^___^.

Chapter Five

The sky was a clear blue, dotted with wisps of white cloud and soaring birds that wheeled and dived through the city, searching for a morsel of tossed away bread or half eaten fish in the crush of houses. The folk of Gondor went about their buisness, neighbors chattering across the street to eachother, women bustling about the market with a squabling bevy of little children at heel, stall keepers hawking their wares and prices. It was a well ordered existence, without surprises or unsteadiness, and that was how folk liked it. You did your duty and lived your life, and the world went on as it always had. That was the way it was.

Some might have been upset by the presence of the unknown, the dangerous and the evil. Some might have said it was simply madness, or weakness that forced Eldarion's hand. What did a king with a duty to his people have any need to keep prisoners for every reason but the obvious? It seemed Eomynne's presence had caused more upheaval than previously thought. After the ball, she had been confined to her room once again, where memories and nightmares begun their terror anew. However, she slept, and ate, and one afternoon, Vera came for a brief visit. 

"I can't stay for long." She whispered, glancing back at the doorway she had passed through moments earlier with a fearfull glance. "I'm only supposed to bring you this."

A package wrapped in brown paper appeared from her apron, and she smiled as Eomynne gave it a confused stare. "What is it?"

"Your clothes. From….ah…when you were captured." Her voice was hushed, as if she were embarassed to say such a thing. Eomynne did not reply, struggling with a rising anguish within her that Vera's words had envoked. Elleduil and Caelidur's faces were a constant reminder to how much she had lost, and despite herself a a fierce bolt of anger sliced through her chest, unconsciously directed towards the handmaid though she had nothing to do with it.

"You've become quite a number." She continued, seating herself precariously on the very edge of Eomynne's bed. Her eyes continuously darted towards the door as she spoke. 

"General Domic wants to question you, and your brothers. He has a lot of folk on his side. Eldarion still won't do it though, wants Lord Simeon's opinion. Or course, he doesn't really know what to think either. The entire court is divided, and Eldarion doesn't seem to care all that much at all. Like he's waiting for something almost…."

"How do you know all this?" Eomynne asked, smiling a little.

Vera blushed. "I—ah…overhear things."

"I see." Eomynne opened the package and lay each item on the bedspread, touching one or another almost tenderly. Vera wathced with curiosity, casting an appraising eye over the light velvety fabrics of greenish hue and soft lavender. Eomynne sighed softly, trying desperately to remember lovely Rivendell and golden Lothlorien as her father had so tenderly described them, where her kind danced below the branches and sang songs of beauty, but finding she could not. There was too much noise, too many things for the mind to focus on. And Vera wasn't helping, chattering away about how wonderfull and beautiful Eomynne's clothes were, and once again commmenting on her fall of golden golden hair. 

"How could you fight and kill wearing such lovelienss?" she whispered, holding up the green tunic with care, brushing her fingertips over the embroidered leaves and creeping insects as if it were a precious jewel. Eomynne sighed again, pursing her lips. 

"You would not understand." How could they understand? How could they feel the earth's heartbeat in this city of stone, and know the brush of clean wind, the destruction of hungry fire, the rich smell of earth underfoot, or hear the whisper of the trees as they told the secrets of the world to those willing enough to listen? 

"I might." Vera murmured, looking a little hurt. "I mean….if you told me…I might understand better…"

"What we take from the earth we honor." Eomynne said stiffly. "We do not forget. We thank Elbereth for all she has given us. We wear her beauty as ours with pride. We show her our thankfullness in all that we do, even through the smallest thing do we praise her."

Vera seemed a little perplexed. "Elbereth," she observed, the accent horrible. Eomynne refrained from comment. "Is that your uh…goddess?"

Eomynne gave a brief nod, then folded her clothes once again and put them away, along with her painfull memories. Vera watched in silence, no doubt soaking in what Eomynne had said to her, and trying to understand what it meant. She didn't expect her to understand. How could she? The naïve woman had never walked in the Golden Wood and felt its mystery, had never sat alone in Rivendell and heard its lilting song, or known the cloak of fear none could escape in dark Mirkwood, where the only light was knowing what wonder you might behold when the mists rose and Thranduil's palace lay before you. Without understanding the heart of Elvin life, how could you know the belief and the never ending lore that was their lodestar in which their entire existance followed? It was simply impossible.

"I need to go." Vera said, almost reluctantly. "I might come again, if that is alright?"

"I suppose." Eomynne replied, faintly surprised that she would ask, when everyone else did not.

There was a pause. "Well, good-bye…" she stopped abruptly, brows furrowing together. 

"It just occurred to me, that I do not know your name."

Eomynne told her.

"Eomynne." She echoed slowly, as if tasting it, and again the accent was less that perfect, but this time it didn't bother her as much. Vera smiled, then gathered up her skirts, bobbing a curtsy. "Good-bye Eomynne." Then she was gone. 

Later, when the sun was sinking below the courtyard walls, a ball of fire diving into the west amidst the farewell calls of wheeling birds, there was a firm knock on her door. Eomynne was sitting by her window, looking down on the city, and it was three more knocks before she opened to a face she had never seen before. 

"Good-evening." He said, a trace of a smile on his stern features. "Fine night is it not?"

Eomynne stared at him as if he were insane, terribly confused.

The man sensed her discomfort, the corners of his lips twitching a little as a smile threatened to break free.

"I am Caelan, Second in Command to General Domic. I will be your escort tonight."

"Escort?" 

Caelan cleared his throat. "Eldarion has decided that you will be allowed a brief conversing with your brothers tonight under my supervision, until it is dark. Upon that time, you will return to your room."

He paused. "Now then, shall we go?"

Eomynne was struck speachless, a happiness swelling in her breast that nearly stole the breath from her. She would be allowed to see her brothers. She had never felt such joy and relief as she did then. There were simply no words to express the elated feeling that glowed in every fiber of her being. 

"Yes." She breathed, tears brimming in her eyes. "Please."

Caelan moved aside, and Eomynne stepped out, eyes scanning the courtyard for signs of her brothers. Caelan gave her a brief glance then strode away, obviously intending for her to follow. Eomynne walked in step, shivering a little in the diminishing heat, and inhaled the cool air around her, catching the hint of colourful fragrance in the blooming flowers. The breeze was crisp, blowing the gauzy curtains of the gazibo into a swirling dance, delicate and slight. Sitting inside, were two slender figures, and Eomynne knew instantly it was them. 

Barely constraining her joy, she quickened her step, approaching the shelter with the soft cry of their names. They heard her instantly, leaping to their feat and running to meet her. Near sobbing, Eomynne collapsed in Elleduil's embrace, feeling Caelidur move in protectively behind. 

Elleduil was whispering a frantic prayer of thanks, his normally calm voice wobbling a little with emotion. Eomynne whispered her own prayer, holding her brother's tight, letting the tears flow. They were thin, so thin. She could feel it thorugh their ragged clothing, and instantly knew they weren't eating well. 

"Eomynne." Elleduil breathed, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Dear one. Dear Eomynne, what is wrong?"

"You are not well." She cried softly, backing away from him and straight into Caelidur, who tightened his hold on her upper arms. "Not at all."

A regretfull expression crossed his handsome features, and he sighed. "You know us well. Almost too well perhaps."

"You must eat." Eomynne insisted, gently removing Caelidur's hands and standing so that she could see both of them. They were mirror images of their parents, Elleduil like Bren, and Caelidur like Legolas. Their faces were gaunt and hollow, and held not the warmth Eomynne had once known in them. It was an unnerving sight. 

"How could we eat food provided by Eldarion?" Caelidur growled savagely. "It could very easily be our own kin."

Eomynne's stomach turned at the thought.

"That could not be so." Elleduil corrected. "The people of Gondor may be evil, but they do not eat the flesh of Elves. You disgust me, to think such."

Caelidur didn't look the least bit sorry. 

"Come." Eomynne instructed. "Come sit. We have little time."

She led them into the gazibo again, seating herself on one pillowed bench. Her brother's sat oposite her, legs stretched and crossed before them. They both looked different, there was no denying, but not just in the physical sense; there was a wildness about them, like a creature caged too long for its own good. It worried Eomynne that her dearest brothers could be so changed in such a short period of time. It seemed that maybe they hadn't been as ready as Legolas thought them to be for this perilous journey. If Eomynne looked hard enough, she could almost see the sandy shores and clear, pearly blue skies reflected in their dull eyes, a longing, a memory of what once was. 

There was a long silence. Neither knew what to say. It was almost uncomfortable, which unnerved Eomynne. She'd never felt awkward in her brother's presence before. They were too close. It was almost as if an invisible wall was dividing them now, that kept one from the other.

"How has Eldarion been treating you?" Elleduil queried softly. 

Eomynne's stomach clenched and she felt faint for a moment, but schooled her features to remain calm. She did not want to worry her brothers.

"Well enough. As much as can be expected." She replied evenly, not a trace of uneasiness in her voice. 

Caelidur gave an indignant snort. He was ignored.

"I'm afraid the same cannot be said for us sister." Elleduil said, his eyes somewhat distant. "Eldarion has made many attempts to extract information from us these past days. Of course, we have said nothing. Nothing of value at least. But Caelidur and I fear for you, Eomynne. We fear you may be his next target, and if he uses the same…..techniques, there is no doubt you would not keep silent."

There was no holding back reaction now. Eomynne felt her face pale, and the dizziness almost overwhelmed her, until a soft voice entered her head, along with pictures, heart-wrenching pictures of her childhood. This skill, was one only Elleduil knew how to administer, and he was a master. Visions swam before her eyes, of a bright eyed youth running along the shores, watching the boats come into dock with their Elven passengers, of three small children sitting in the tall grass, weaving intricate crowns from the smooth stalks, and finally of herself and Haldir standing in the tower, watching as the sun dove below the horrizon, the sky ablaze with deep orange and red. It was that, which nearly forced tears from her eyes, but it was not painfull. That was a happy memory. 

"We must be strong." Elleduil whispered in her mind, warm and comforting. "We will be strong. As three mighty oaks stand tall, so do we hold firm. That is our way. None can harm us."

"None can harm us." Eomynne echoed. 

"None can harm us." Caelidur was familiar with this ritual. He knew Elleduil's skill, and what it implied. He was a part of their mighty circle, and he had his part. 

Eomynne caught the eye of Caelan, who was standing far enough away so as not to intrude, but close enough to keep watch. He gave a nod, then glanced to the sky, which was darkening rapidly. 

"We do not have much time." She said urgently to her brothers, pulling her gaze away from the guard. Elleduil's mouth pinched a little, and Caelidur looked suddenly quite angry.

"Eldarion cannot separate us for long." He vowed. "Soon, we will be free of this evil place."

"Until we are given more time, you must keep on." Elleduil instructed, as if Caeldur had said nothing at all. "Eldarion is a dark and crafty man. He cares nothing for our kind. Be carefull around him. Give him no reason to question you, or hurt you. If you do that, we may have our chance soon."

Eomynne nodded, sudden tears welling in her eyes. She went forward and embraced her brothers, feeling their strength and wisdom as if it were her own. Their skin was cold with a despairing chill, but their hearts burned brightly with renewed hope, and that hope gave Eomynne the will and courage she was lacking. It would probably be a long time before she would see them again. This would have to do for now. 

Pulling back, she met their eyes, glowing emerald green and clear blue in the moon's soft light. It was dark now, and it was time to go. With a last look, Eomynne rose.

"Namaarie." She whispered, then pulling one gauzy curtain aside and stepping onto the path, she left her dearest brothers behind, her heart aching with a pain she feared might never go away.

Eldarion sat straight in his chair, fingering a short blade between his slender hands, calloused and rough from many a day with the sword. He was half listening to Simeon talk, catching important words and phrases when he had to. Simeon's brothers were seated as well along both sides of the long table, attentive and alert. Domic seemed a little distracted, glancing out the window now and again and into the courtyard below. Eldarion dismissed it. Two of the brother's were missing, one on a duty, the other just never came. 

"My Lord." Simeon said abruptly. "I asked you how the prisoners have been faring."

"Fine enough. The men are uncommonly strong. They do not utter a word, even after all my tries to extract it from them. It's bred into their kind, headstrong, arogant, every man thinks himself a hero."

"But what about the girl?" Domic put in, somewhat agitated.

There was a heavy silence.

"You already know the answer." Armael muttered. "Why then, do you keep asking?"

"Because I believe it a worthy cause." He snapped, turning his head so he met Eldarion's gaze full on. The King held it, a slow smile creeping upon his lips. "Because I know she would not hold."

There was a touch of unsteadiness in his voice now, a common reaction. None could meet Eldarion's eyes, and not be unnafected. They were like ice, and it was almost as if they sucked your soul out, turning your insides bleak and dark. It was an unsettling feeling, not one worth repeating.

"What his Highness says, is no concern of yours. His word is law."

Always jumping to Eldarion's defense, Cyrus was. He was a true follower, respectfull, dutiful, obeying the King's every word without question, jumping to his every beck and call. The other brothers thought it almost as bad as the youngest Essien, who refused to do anything unexpected without Eldarion's permission. It had used to be Simeon who he followed like a faithfull dog, now the King had the power to toss him around any way he pleased. After all, Essien who hear no word against his 'lord almighty'.

"Bold words, brother." Domic sneered. "Now why don't you clean the floors and wash the dishes as your King would want?"

All the lines had been crossed. It was all fair game now. Cyrus jumped to his feet, his hazy green eyes shooting daggers. Domic seemed ready to start a fight, but remained calm in his seat.

"How dare you speak of Eldarion as such?!" the outraged brother hissed.

Domic opened his mouth for a smart reply, but Eldarion had decided enough was enough.

"Return to your seats men. This is no place for petty arguments. We are not women."

They did as he bid, Cyrus lowering himself slowly and calmly into the chair, his eyes trained on Domic across the table. An unspoken message passed between them, then both eased, glancing at Simeon and Eldarion to see what would be said next. Their quarrel was instantly forgotten, as if it had never happened.

"Torturing the woman is not what I intend." Eldarion said. "There is more here to break her defenses than just physical attack and mutilation. If you know your enemy, you know what can harm them more than that. It is simple, if you find the right spot."

"Her brothers maybe?" Essien inquired, for he was there also.

"Her tie with them is strong, very strong." Eldarion admitted, a sudden gleam coming to his eye. "But look deeper, and you see the forlorn and distraught soul of a woman denied her family, her friends, her lover."

Armael looked thoughtfull. "So you think she has a lover then? A second soul? Which once she looses, she looses everything?"

"Exactly."

"They have been gone for very long." Elrond remarked, glancing about his own council with a steady eye. "Perhaps they are already lost to us."

"That's nonsense!" Legolas cried, clutching his wife's hand tightly beneath the table. "We would know if they no longer lived."

"What if they are captured? What if they live each day wishing for death, the final release, something to end the torture and the agony that never ever stopped?"

Haldir's words had their desired effect. The council shared a brief moment of silence, an icy chill taking hold of them. He too fought hard against his emotions, for just saying what he'd said had pulled painfully at his heart. Thinking of Eomynne at the hands of Eldarion made his blood run cold, an understanding of what he had the power to do making his stomach churn with fear and rage.

"We will wait another week." Galadriel informed them all. "Then we will go for them. This must be stopped."

Despite conflicting opinions on the matter, each and every one seated there gave a nod. It was decided. They would all rather have Eldarion keep on his bloody crusade, then see innocents killed for no good reason. At least if Legolas' children were brought back, three lives would be spared. That was enough for them. 

One week, and they would be brought home. 

A/N: Well, whataya think? Good? Bad? Wonderfull? Please review because it means so much to me!!!! And sorry for chapter four. I don't know what happened. The tabs just suddenly dissapeared through no fault of mine. Anywayz, hope you enjoyed this and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!!!


	6. Found

A/N: Hmm. Well this fic seems to have taken off, now doesn't it? I guess I've just had this big inspiration, and everything is suddenly so easy to write. Well, we can all be thankfull. The only thing that I think needs some change, is the fact that I have had no new REVIEWS!!!*evil glares* Come on people!!! I'm giving you what you want right? So REVIEW!!!! Now, on with things.

Chapter Six

Hasana sat serenely by her bay window, the glass doors open to the elements. A gentle breeze blew the curtains, and a few wisps of golden hair were pulled loose from their tight braids. Outwardly, her appearance would be one of deep thought and contemplation, calm and contented, but inwardly, Hasana trembled and shook, a despairing chill that never left swam and coiled around her like some dark snake sizing up its prey. Her strange eyes betrayed her though, hazing to a troubled midnight blue despite her struggling attempts to keep them a clear emerald green. They always changed with every shift of mood or thought, whether she wanted them to or not, and at that moment, complete control and stillness was needed, which became more impossible with each passing second. If she could barely keep her emotions in check, how could she attempt the perilous and draining task of using the craft? 

After all, the craft was all she had now. All she had left. The people she had so truly devoted herself to were long sinced murdered, the forest in which she dwelt and protected burned and destroyed. The soul she had bound herself to, and loved more with each passing day was imprisoned and kept from her sight, which in itself, was more terrible than having him killed. Perhaps she could have used the craft to set him free, if only to set her own doom, but wouldn't it be worth it? 

With less than complete concentration, she watched a scattering of small pebbles on the balcony shudder and roll at her wordless command, moving to form the tiny image of a tall oak. It was a pathetic use of the craft, useless in the grand scheme of things, but Hasana sometimes liked to do that, just to make things a little easier. It helped sometimes. 

"You shouldn't do that." Came a voice from behind her, snapping what little concentration she had mustered into a million little shards. The pebbles dissapeared, back in the pile where they'd been a moment earlier, the image of the oak no more. 

Hasana turned, giving Eldarion no more than a brief glance, before turning her gaze to her hands which had involuntarily clenched into fists. She loosened them slowly, calming her quickened breathing.

"You shouldn't waste yourself like that." Eldarion continued, picking up and studying a small bottle of perfume from her desk. "Your power is needed for more important things."

"I will do with the craft what I wish." Hasana said calmly, in her serene way. "It is no concern of yours."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong." Eldarion corrected, placing the bottle back in its place. He watched her back stiffen, but only slightly, and felt his blood stir at the sight of her smooth skin twisting in that fashion. She had always been a secret passion of his, her beauty flawless, ageless, unparalelled. After all, she was not an Elf, despite her choice in a lover, and to many, she was quite a sight. So far though, she'd been nothing but a fantasy. 

"I do not understand what you mean." She replied evenly.

Eldarion hid a smile, striding closer so he stood beside her. She would not meet his gaze, her eyes trained outside, though he knew she was just avoiding him. 

"Lle rangwa." He whispered accusingly, close to her ear. 

Hasana choked down a gasp, the hairs on her neck standing. It had been so long since she'd heard Elvish spoken, and of all the people she'd expected to hear it from, Eldarion was far from her mind. A tingle ran down her spine at the familiar words: You understand. The same thing Bren, her sister had said to her at their old home. The last time she'd seen Bren….was a time not to be remembered. Sometimes the nightmarish howls of the Azaad Lud still invaded her dreams, and most times, she could not shake the vision of the two lovers, Bren held tightly in the Elven Prince's arms as the final strike rained down upon them. It was mere chance Hasana had been there in time, for she could not stand idly by and watch as Galadriel's plan fell in shambles around them. 

"You did not think I could speak the language." Eldarion murmured, letting his hand trail against her shoulder as he moved to sit oposite her. "But my mother, the Undomiel, bore Elven blood did she not? And my sisters, were testimony to that heritage. One does not grow up without learning."

Hasana's blood ran cold. Visions passed before her eyes of the sisters he spoke of, four near identical young women, each more beautiful and lovely than the next. The walls around her seemed to echo with the sounds of their singing, lilting melodies than touched the heart and made the soul cry, and the horrific screams as they breathed their last at the hands of their only brother. It was a disturbing sight, for Hasana had never known the true nature of their death. It was more than plain now, that Eldarion had murdered them.

She was suddenly trembling perceptively, even as the vision faded before her, and it took all her courage not to scream with fear. All her training with Galadriel seemed nothing now. The serene power and calm authority Hasana had once felt, was quickly crumbling away, and she was becoming something entirely different. A weak, emotionaly strained mortal with no path to follow and no light to guide her.

"You killed them." Hasana whispered, feeling the tears running down her cheeks. "You killed your own sisters."

Eldarion did not seem troubled in the least, dismissing her horror and disgust with a mere glance.

"That is the past. They were nothing, a problem easily remedied; a thorn in my side."

His tone was expressionless.

Hasana pushed down the rising anger within her, wiping the wet rivulets from her cheeks. She sighed heavily, clutching the fabric of her gown in her lap with a tight grip. Eldarion was silent for a time, watching outside the window with complete disinterest, then rose from his seat, striding towards the door. 

"Your services will be needed tonight. Make sure not to wear yourself out." He cast a quick look over his shoulder. "Caelan will be sent to fetch you, after he has finished his report on a duty he preformed the night previous. Be ready when he comes."

Hasana stared after him, waiting until he was out of sight before stepping outside and looking over the balcony. The outcrop looked over the courtyard below and to the left. The gazibo placed in the center was indeed empty, but she could still feel the strong energy that had been there not long before. It was faint now, but defenitely there. She'd known someone, actually three people had been inside the night previous, three figures that shared a strong bond, but Hasana had been unable to see who. The power she'd sensed was most familiar to her, and it was now that she wanted to find out why.

Clutching the railing to steady herself, Hasana closed her eyes that had changed to an uncommonly clear gray, and slowed her breathing. Deep from the belly, out through the nose, she closed her ears to the world around her, letting silence and calm envellop her senses. Slowly, her tense body unstrung itself, settling into a stillness. Hasana crawled deep inside herself, a trance like state it would take much to bring her out of. The energy was much clearer and sharper now, and as the trance deepened, she began to see images. It was three Elves, she soon realized to much surprise, two men and a woman. They were talking amongst themselves, and slowly, the voices came to her.

"We do not have much time." The woman said urgently.

The blonde spoke up. "Eldarion cannot separate us for long. Soon we will be free of this evil place."

The taller, older looking one ignored him.

"Until we are given more time, you must continue on." He said to the woman, and it was this man that Hasana felt was most familiar. The red hair, and the emerald green eyes sparkling with clarity, tugged at her memory fiercely, though she did not know why.

"Namaarie." The woman said to the other two, embracing them tightly. Hasana had missed something. She struggled to bring it back, but they were fading fast, and soon, the energy spent itself, and was gone. Sighing inwardly at her failure, Hasana began to slip out of her trance, feeling each strand of concentration and the craft leaving her slowly. It must have taken her quite some time, because when she finally opened her eyes once again, the sun was nearing the mountains in the west, and a crisp breeze blew through the air, a promise of the night chill to come later. Her body was heavy, and Hasana suddenly felt very weary; she clutched the railing harder to keep from collapsing. 

Taking one last look down at the gazibo, Hasana returned inside, closing the glass doors behind her with a click.

The day after was long. Eomynne could not remember any other day being as long and painfull as the one she had just finished. The loneliness had returned, along with her fear, and without much to do, haunting memories caught up with her, and despite her strongest efforts, she could not escape them. Without much care, she tried to busy herself with exploring her large and spacious room, for it was still strange and new. In drawers she found silk dresses and soft slippers, combs for hair and combs for decoration, books and papers and even a diary, which was locked, much to her dismay. A vast array of different items were presented to her with each discovery, and it became very apparent afterwards, that whoever had stayed there previous had either forgotten everything in their departure, or left in quite a hurry.

Opening the diary, was her next task.

It was a lovely piece of work, bound in leather and embedded with tiny precious jewels, stitches of gold thread creating a pattern of roses down the spine. Without opening it, she could tell it was old, and had been well used by its owner, the pages slightly yellowed with time and exposure. The clasp though, was most definitely locked, and it took Eomynne some rummaging before she found a pin that could be utilized to open the mechanism. 

Sitting center on her bed, she slid the hair pin into the key hole, feeling it rattle around inside as she poked and prodded, twisting it one way or another. A strand of hair slid free from behind her ear, and she pushed it back, balancing the book on one knee and at last finding what she was searching for. With a sharp click, the clasp popped open.

Moving the cover aside, the pages creaked and cracked with protest with so much activity after such a long time. Eomynne carefully turned each page, letting her eyes scan the first entry. It was a picture, of a tall, handsome man with straight blond hair hanging just above his shoulders. He wore fine clothing, a wine red tunic rimmed with gold over heavy chainmail, and a green cape about his shoulders, held in place with a glittering leaf pin. He was standing in a field, his face to the pearly blue sky, and his clear green eyes held a sorrow in them, a deep and overwhelming sense of loss and regret, of guilt and a longing of what could not be. In the corner, scrawled in neat black print, was: "Son of Gondor, thee lie in green fields, rest without worry or strife, for thy evil has passed. Remember thy king, as thou once knew him, and have faith, for he comes to you, and forever shall thou be forgiven."

Eomynne felt tears begin to gather in her eyes, for the words held a hidden message, of a deep and emcompassing bond. Like family, she thought with a pang of anguish, Caelidur and Elleduil's faces swimming before her. Perhaps they were brothers. But no, the poem clearly spoke of a King, and was too old to have meant Eldarion, so it must have been Aragorn, and he did not have brothers. Eomynne tried to dredge up a memory of him, from what her Father had said here and there, but she saw nothing. She remembered then though, the tale of the Fellowship of Nine, and it suddenly became very clear who the man portrayed was. 

"Boromir." Eomynne whispered, running her finger tips over the page slowly. "You let the Ring destroy you."

"That was my Father's." a soft voice spoke suddenly from the doorway.

Eomynne's head snapped up, meeting Eldarion's eyes fully. He stood casually, leaning against the frame, arms folded across his chest. His eyes were calm, as if they had thawed after a long winter. Eomynne had never seen him so withdrawn and unguarded. 

"I assumed as much." She murmured, studying the picture again. 

"He had his scribe paint that as his last entry." Eldarion continued, moving forward into the room. "Before he died. By the time the scribe had finished it, my Father was drawing his last breath. He told me that he could die in peace after seeing it, for his burden of guilt had been lifted. He somehow assumed that Boromir's death had been his fault, and that he'd never truly forgiven him for what he did."

Eomynne was shocked into silence at his bold speech, willing back the tears of pity that sprung forward for this man she had never known. She knew the tale of the One Ring better than most, and what the Lord Boromir had done in an attempt to gain the ring for himself, but it had never occurred to her until then how much guilt and sorrow had passed between the King and his 'brother' over the matter; how much it had torn apart Aragorn afterward until his death. It seemed now that the two had come to some sort of peace.

"Why did the scribe leave?" Eomynne asked, gesturing to the way the drawers had been haphazardly emptied and how some items had been left behind, including the journal.

"He didn't." Eldarion replied. "His wife did, after his death. She didn't take much with her, and left in quite a hurry. I suppose my Father's journal was forgotten in her haste."

Eomynne lifted the leather bound book, offering it to Eldarion with a surprisingly steady hand.

"You can have it. I was just looking."

Eldarion regarded her neutraly for a moment, considering it, then shook his head and turned away.

"It's yours now. At the very least it will give you something to do. I might call for you later. Make sure you are not late."

Eomynne did not answer, staring after him until he had left, then stood and closed the door he had so rudely opened. After the silence settled in again, she returned to the bed and lay down, placing the journal on the bedstand beside it, trying not to look at the blood stained dagger she still had not found the courage to put away. Her thoughts were vague, focusing mostly on the odd manner in which Eldarion had treated her. She went over the conversation again and again in her mind, but still could not see why he had been so calm and aloof. Something had occurred perhaps? A slip in the guard? A prisoner loose? An ill fated venture? It seemed more than strange that he had not found some way to insult her, or frighten her, or smile in that way of his that told you more than you wanted to know. It was as if they had just been two friends discussing the tragic tale of their forefathers. Nothing more, nothing less. 

A vision swam before her eyes then, of her and Haldir standing in the tower, the same vision Elleduil had comforted her with before. It was no where near comforting now, and made Eomynne's heart twist painfully in longing. She had never felt such strong emotion for anyone before, with the exception of her brothers, and was unnacustomed to being near overwhelmed with sorrow. She wanted to be back in the Haven with Haldir so badly. She wanted to hear his strong and melodious voice sing sweet songs to her, or tell her a lovely tale of two starcrossed lovers who eventually found peace together. This task was cruel indeed, to separate her from those she loved, and put her at the mercy of an evil and blood-thirsty murderer instead. Life in the Haven was simple. Middle-Earth was a place of unmeasurable pain and suffering. How could one count how many had died on its foul soil, how many had lost familly or friends, or known the torture of a foul beast, or of the heart-sick soul? 

Drifting into a restless sleep filled with foul dreams, Eomynne left herself to the mercy of the nightmares, and bore it with silence, as those who had suffered before her. She would be just as strong, if it cost her everything.

It rained. The wind thrashed, the relentless wet poured through every crack and crevice, found its way into any space possible, soaked into your skin. The howls echoed in your mind, beating against stone and earth, against all in its way. It held no mercy for the weak and powerless. It had never rained in the Haven before, that I knew with a clear certainty, but it was not that that frightened me. What frightened me, was that it didn't. It was undeniable how clear an omen it was, that evil was on its way, but I was not frightened. I knew, with an identical certainty, that my daughter was fighting, and she was losing. But she was fighting, and she would win. 

No one believed me. They believed that she would lose, that she would die, and that in the end she would scream for mercy. They wanted to save her. They wanted to go and risk everything to save my daughter, who was in reality, saving them. I expected him to understand, of all people, how wrong they were. I knew he loved her more than he loved anything else, but because he didn't believe, he could never understand. He could never understand how strong she was. 

Even her own father could not see what I was trying to tell him. 

And the other, the one I knew she did not want to leave behind, the one who loved her, and did not know he loved her, was the farthest lost. He could never see past his own hatred, his own rage, to know how much he loved her, and knew, like I knew, that in the very end she would rise victorious. I knew, perhaps even before he knew, that he would lose her. 

A/N: Well, I have to say, I hate this chapter. *gags. Yuck. I hate how I wrote all of this, except for the end. I just came back from seeing White Oleander, which was a really good movie, and was struck by inspiration, and just had to write this part. It's Bren speaking, if you didn't already guess, and I really liked how deep this went. I rarely write this deep, except on occasions. The end is the only part I'm happy with. Maybe you like it too? Yes? Please say yes *hopefull look. Anyway, R&R!!!!! 


	7. Plan

A/N: Well, right back into it. I just posted chapter six last night, and already I'm getting going on chapter seven. Yay me! I had SO much homework this weekend. Math, English, Science(chemistry baffles me*hopeless look*) French and Religion. Ugh. Weekends are for RELAXING. Don't teachers get that? Meh, stupid teachers. Don't know anything usefull*evil glare* Sigh, so here I go. Maybe this one will be better……

Disclaimer: It just occurred to me that I haven't been putting up diclaimers on all my chapters. Oops. Silly me. Well, just to make all those sueing lawyers out there happy…….I OWN NOTHING. I HAVE NO MONEY. SUEING ME WOULD BE A BIG WASTE OF TIME ON BOTH OUR PARTS. I DON'T EVEN BUY MY OWN CLOTHES. I'M JUST A BIG MOMMA'S GIRL. Phew. Happy?

Chapter Seven

Later that night, Hasana was called before Eldarion. Caelan came to her room to fetch her just as the sun was beginning to set, wearing a fine green tunic embroidered with silver. His curly blonde hair was tied back, letting the slight gray forming at his temples show, and his grey eyes were unusually guarded. Hasana had always believed he looked a great deal like his older brother Simeon, though where he was naturaly laid back and relaxed, Simeon was powerfull and knew more than most as Eldarion's chief advisor and Steward. Though Eldairon was on more friendly terms with Domic, his general, Simeon was the one who really knew how to run and rule a country, which was why he received more power. All the brothers had a share of influence, all except the third eldest Nathaniel, who was naturaly very aloof and secretive. From what Hasana knew, he was being held captive within the palace for treason, on what grounds, no one seemed to have heard. 

Caelan knocked on her door softly.

"Come in." she called over her shoulder, fixing a glittering silver pin over a bunch of her long, thin braids. Her eyes adjusted to a mellow green with Caelan's easy presence in the room, and she gave him a small smile once her pin was in place. Caelan was a nice enough man, who seemed a little out of place in Eldarion's palace. He gave Hasana the impression of neutrality, as if he had no part in the King's crusade, and didn't really know what to think about the Elven race. 

He smiled back, offering his arm.

"Are you ready? Eldarion wishes to see you now."

"Yes I am ready." Hasana replied, a little reluctantly, entwining her own arm with his. "Do you have any idea why the King requests my presence?"

Caelan frowned, leading them into the hall and setting a slow, leisurely pace. 

"No, I do not." He said, but Hasana did not believe him in the least. He was most defenitely hiding something from her; she could tell in the way his eyes had lost their shine and warmth. She knew him too well for him to ever lie to her. She said nothing in return though, letting him keep his silence.

"I hear Eldarion has new captives." She murmured evenly, trying not to sound too inquisitive. "Siblings. Two brothers and a sister. Have you met them?"

There was a brief pause.

"Yes. I have met the sister." Caelan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Poor thing. I was there when she was captured. Put up quite a fight she did, but was brought down by my brother, Domic. It was horrible. I've never seen him strike someone like that before….and a woman….Barbaric. Cruel. Sometimes I just…."

He stopped, his lips pressed firmly together, the sounds of their feet on the floor echoing loudly down the passageway. 

"Just what?" Hasana prompted, trying to meet his gaze. 

Caelan looked away, not answering.

"It does not matter." He said softly after a few quiet moments. Hasana did not push any further. 

They continued on in heavy silence for the rest, each of them keeping to their own thoughts. Hasana was steeling herself for this meeting, for she knew that Eldarion was planning something, something that required her craft, which could mean only horrible things in the future. She would refuse as long as was possible, until he began making threats. She would not sacrifice any life for her own sense of morality. She hoped Caelan might be on her side though. That could make things easier.

"Here we are." He suddenly announced, taking his arm away from hers and opening the hall doors in one fluid motion. Hasana followed him inside, forcing her mounting fear down, keeping her eyes a calm sea green. 

The hall was a grand place, dominated mostly by one long ebony table, and the high backed chairs placed around it of the same wood and colour. There were floor to ceiling windows, some draped with rich golden fabric, others left alone. Two smaller glass doors led to a large balcony outside, with a view that looked over the entire expanse of Gondor and the rolling hills beyond. Hasana took it all in with silence, though she still marvellled at the beauty and lovely nature of everything she set eyes on. 

The chairs around the table were mostly occupied, all of which by men, and only two were left vacant, where Hasana supposed she and Caelan would sit. Eldarion rose as they entered, placing his fingertips on the polished wood surface, a small smile in his cool gaze. Caelan regarded his King with a grave nod, then seated himself, leaving Hasana to stand awkwardly before them all. 

"Welcome." Eldarion said lightly, gesturing around them.

Hasana said nothing in return.

There was a pregnant pause, broken by a muffled cough.

"Is this the captive?" the man to Eldarion's right questioned, eyeing her over slowly. His brows narrowed. "She is no Elf. What game are you playing Eldarion?"

Eldarion made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Her lover was an Elf. And she has abilities that would place much power in our hands if they were utilized."

The man leaned back in his chair, resting his dark haired head in his hands. He seemed thoughtfull, and his emerald green eyes glowed ominously. He looked uninterested, but in his gaze Hasana could clearly see he was summing her up and calculating her importance very carefully. He was not the kind of man who let opourtunity slip through his fingers. 

"Asillan." Eldarion said, giving Hasana a brief glance. "What do you think? You know I wish your agreement in this matter. And since you hold Nathaniel as your personal prisoner, I need to know if you think his own talents would be worth using with her, or simply wasted in our efforts. What I impose requires two of their kind."

Hasana squirmed, a sudden unease gripping her belly. Where had she heard that name before? It was much too familiar, though not in the good sense.

"Your plan involves the seer?" Assilan questioned, eyes lighting up a little. "I did not know you wished to use him. And if the captive here has the same talents….." His startling gaze jumped to Hasana, suddenly much more interested. He did not need to finish his sentence for her to realize how dangerous her situation had become. 

"When do you impose to do this?"

"Whenever we are ready." Eldarion purred.

It was then Hasana suddenly remembered who the man was.

He was the lord of Gladden Fields, where Bren had gone before her ordeal. It was there that he had taken her against her will, and she then fled to the forest of Mirkwood for her unfortunate and untimely meeting with the Prince. It was all so clear….Hasana felt faint to be in the presence of the man who had nearly raped her sister. A coil of fear wound around her breast, draining the colour from her face.

Her change did not go unnoticed.

"Afraid are you?" Assilan murmured, drumming his fingers on the polished table. "You have no need to be. You will not be harmed. Others will receive punishment for your failure."

Dizziness seized her.

"Arange for her to meet with Nathaniel. They should at least know eachother beforehand." She heard him say to Eldarion, low and sinister. "Whatever you imply will work out much easier that way."

The room began to spin, her vision fading into blurry shapes and darkness.

"Hasana?" 

Caelan's voice was the last thing she heard before the marble floor came suddenly to meet her.

Nathaniel watched the guards carry the woman's body back to her room. They passed across the walkway that was directly beneath his tower room. His clear, nearly colourless eyes studied her braided hair and shifting cloak, revealing her aquaintance with the Lady Galadriel. He knew enough about he Elven lady's former plans to know the woman was Hasana, warden of the Golden Wood, who had assisted in The Lady Bren's journey with the True Ring. He'd had enough visions to know everything about her. 

_Do they have her?_ A soft, weak voice slurred inside his head. 

_Yes_ he replied steadily, forming a picture of the Elven Lord Cigry in his mind's eye. Speaking without words was much easier when you could see who you communitcated with.

_Yes they do _he repeated. _They are returning her to her chamber_

What could have been interpreted as a sigh echoed back.

_Is she well?_

_Well enough. _

Is she content?

Nathaniel felt anger flare in his breast for just a brief moment, before it was pushed back down. He let stillness envelop him once again, focusing on generating an answer. He allowed some of his quelled anger show in his reply.

_You disgrace both her, and yourself by asking that question Cigry._

There was no response. Nathaniel could tell Cigry had broken the connection, either out of his own choice, or was forced to. He would talk with him later. Without even having seen the Elven lord, he understood that his own grief was killing him. Nathaniel's only choice was to help ease it, to delay the innevitable outcome. Perhaps he would give Cigry enough time.

The guards were walking back along the pathway, speaking in low voices to eachother. 

The silence returned.

Nathaniel waited. 

A/N: Okay, I know it's incredibly short, but I have limited time this weekend for writing, so this may be my last chance to get this to you. In case you haven't already guessed, I'm incorporating A LOT of characters from "From Beneath the Depths of Shadow." Bren's brothers, Assilan, Hasana, Cigry to name a few. For those of you that haven't read FBtDoS it would probably be wise to go back and read it to understand what the HELL is going on. If you don't, you will most likely get utterly confused. So here it is, and I wanna give a shout out to Sicklepod: Hey there! Thanx for coming back! It seems I have lost all my reviewers because of my neglect. Thank you SO much for returning to Corruption. It means a lot to me!^_____^ Enjoy and R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 


	8. Escape

A/N: Well, it's been a while. There's no doubting it. I kinda just stopped writing for a while, because I was not inspired to write the next part in this story. I don't like to write things when I'm not inspired, because then they are complete garbage(chapter seven as an example). So, I'm trying again to get this story off the ground, because I feel it is my duty to my readers to do this one thing. I hope you enjoy! ^_^ And PLEASE R&R!!!! If I do not get enough reviews, I will die. Simple fact. Prevent my demise!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I intend no infringement. Tolkien is the holy god of all things Lord of the Rings. I am merely a poor student with a fatal obsession for his work. Please don't sue.^_^

P.S: Please excuse all mistakes in grammar or spelling. I tend to miss things when I edit~_^

Chapter Eight

Rain splattered heavily on the window behind Eomynne's bed when she woke slowly the next morning. Even with her eyes firmly shut, she could see the flash of lightening strike across her closed lids, followed a few beats later by the distinct clap and boom of thunder. Nestled in the warm embrace of the heavy bed sheets, she was reluctant to get up, wishing with all her might that if she kept her eyes closed for long enough, she would be gone from her accursed prison and once more lying under the midday sun along the sandy shores of the Haven. But even with all her wishing and hoping, the rain stayed where it was, instead seeming to mock her by picking up its pace, throwing itself more relentlessly against the glass.

With a sigh, she very reluctantly opened her eyes, staring crossly at the ceiling. 

"Go away." She whispered feebly.

"Not a chance." Came a low voice from across the room.

Startled, Eomynne sat up stiffly, holding the sheets close to her chest. By the door sat Eldarion, relaxing easily in the chair he so favoured. He gave her a chilling grin, and Eomynne shivered, lying back down and tugging the sheets over her head, squeezing her eyes shut again. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? Did he find it his responsibility to stalk her every moment of every day? Or was he more sick and twisted than she originally thought?

"I am not going anywhere." Eldarion informed her, his heavy voice muffled by the fabric which covered her head. "You can avoid me all you like, but you may soon find yourself running in circles."

Eomynne didn't even bother to respond.

Grimmacing, she tucked her cold legs closer to her chest, rolling over on her side. Her head had begun to throb, a steady beat that marched between her ears, and the dull ache that haunted her had taken up residence in her chest again. She briefly considered taking the unsheathed blade from her bedside table and leaping after Eldarion, but soon realized that he would probably move and imobilize her before she even got three strides toward him. 

Eomynne gave a heavy sigh. She was beginning to feel quite pathetic. If she was a real warrior, she would have thought up a plan to kill Eldarion and escape by then, instead of cowering at every word the King said, and flinching with every move he made towards her. What would her brothers think if they knew how lazy and weak she was? If they knew she was doing nothing but lying hopelessly in her bed, hiding like a coward beneath the sheets? They'd already suffered torture, and she was still being treated like a queen. She almost wished Eldarion would do something to her, something to bring her back to her senses. 

After a while, Eomynne found there was no use hiding all day. Inwardly wincing, she pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood slowly, bringing one hand to her temple to fight of the dizziness that ensued. She really should be eating more. 

"Are you going to dress?" Eldarion asked, though Eomynne could tell he didn't care either way.

She simply nodded, then retrieved her warrior garb from where she'd tossed it on the floor the night before and removed the long shirt she'd procured from one of the emptied drawers. She turned her back on Eldarion while she dressed, all the while feeling his burning gaze, hot like hellfire on her exposed skin. She tried not to think about it too much, but it still bothered her a little.

"You have many scars." Eldarion noted, and Eomynne could hear him rise and stride over until he was directly behind her. "Did you fight many battles?"

"Yes." Eomynne replied stiffly. "Many of your men died by my sword."

She pulled on her leggings and was starting to slip into her tunic when she felt Eldarion's hand travel down her back slowly. She restrained herself from jumping away, shivering as he hummed under his breath thoughtfully.

"This one here," he murmured, running the length of her back again, "it seems recent. Did that occur when you were captured by my men?"

Eomynne shivered again, trying to squash down the heat flooding her cheeks.

"No." she forced out. "No it didn't. But I did receive this…."

She raised one trembling hand and parted her hair on the side of her head, revealing an ugly scar that was still in the process of healing. Some crusted blood still remained, even after she'd been cleaned up by Manille and Vera. There was a moment of silence, where Eomynne assumed Eldarion was examining the cut. After a few heavy moments, he chuckled darkly.

"That would be Domic's handiwork, is it not?"

Eomynne frowned.

"I suppose." She sighed. "Though I cannot confirm that. I hardly had the time to realize what was happening before I was struck, let alone scrutinize the face of my assaulter and save it for later."

Her tone was bitter.

Eldarion chuckled again, then moved around to face her, his dark eyes burning like hot coals. 

"You Elves are indeed strange." He observed, raising one elegant eyebrow. "Pigheaded in every sense of the word. Too proud to admit what a pradicament they've gotten themselves into, and then they try to cover up their fear with witty remarks and a stiff upper lip." 

Eomynne said nothing, pushing her quiet outrage down.

Eldarion eyed her carefully.

"You don't fool me." He said, smiling a little. "You're afraid, and your dearest brothers cannot save you this time…."

"What do you know about my brothers?!" Eomynne shrieked, her misty eyes flaming. "You do not know _anything_ about them! They could be just as easily the same as you, but you are too blinded by your disgusting blood lust to see!"

Eldarion stepped back, no doubt surprised by her unchecked display of rage. Eomynne however, wasn't going to let him get away that easily. She advanced, slapping him forcefully across the cheek, and backing him into the corner. Without thought, she snatched the dagger from where it lay unsheathed and pressed it firmly against Eldarion's throat, leaning all her body weight onto him to keep him from striking back. 

"You deserve no better." She hissed into his face, teeth clenched tightly together. "By the Valar, I should have killed you the moment I saw you."

Eldarion forced out a laugh, and Eomynne could see he was far from afraid. She hesitated a moment, instantly regretting it when she was pushed backwards in her moment of weakness, and sent tumbling across the floor. Before she had time to draw breath, Eldarion was on her, peeling her fingers away from the hilt of the blade and tossing it carelessly behind him. His elbow dug painfully into her chest, and as Eomynne sucked in air, he shoved it deeper, knocking the wind out of her and pushing a faint whine from her throat.

"Did you seriously think you could do that?" Eldarion muttered, laughing softly.

"I had a chance." Eomynne wheezed, struggling underneath him.

Eldarion shook his head, his dark hair falling in dissaray over his face.

"No, you didn't."

Eomynne gave him a sour look, wanting with all her might to scratch his eyes out. She continued to struggle, not to escape, just to give Eldarion a hard time. If she wasn't going to kill him, she was going to do everything in her power to be difficult about it. 

"If you stay still, then I will let you go." Eldarion promised. "I give you my word."

"Ha." Eomynne scoffed, giving Eldarion one of her most disgusted smiles. "When was your word worth anything?"

Eldarion leaned harder into her chest, causing a sharp white flash of pain to strike across her abdomen.

"It is worth enough for the likes of you." He replied, his lip curling in a sneer, clearly enjoying seeing Eomynne writhe and struggle, suffering under his massive weight.

Eomynne had had enough. She spat fiercely into his face.

"Amin feuya ten'lle." She hissed with contempt. "Utinu en lokirim."

__

You disgust me. Son of Snakes.

Eldarion simply gave a chilling smile.

"Tanya nae sai eina." He laughed, clearly amused. "Lasta lalaithamin."

__

That was very funny. Listen to my laughter.

Eomynne screamed in outrage, heaving all her weight forward and cracking her skull against Eldarion's. He gave a cry of surprise, clutching his head as she sprung away from him, dashing to her bed where the dagger lay on the floor behind it. She groped in the darkness, until her fingers touched the cold steel and she clutched the hilt, turning just in time to throw the deadly weapon at Eldarion as he came after her. The blade sunk deep into his shoulder, and he faltered, stumbling aside. 

Eomynne saw her chance.

She streaked forward, throwing open the door and dashing out into the pouring rain, sprinting with all her strength to where Elleduil and Caelidur's rooms were placed. The grassy courtyard was reduced to a squelching quagmire of mud, sucking her bare heels and slowing her progress, but she struggled on nonetheless, hoping with all her might that Eldarion wouldn't pursue her right away.

Much to her joy, the guards that stood outside her brother's rooms had just left to be relieved, and the ornately decorated doors were left unminded. As she skidded to a halt by the first one, there was a whizz of steel in the air, and she jumped right just in time to miss Eldarion's throw. Powered by fury, and the adrenaline surging through her veins, Eomynne snatched the blade and turned to see Eldarion stumbling after her, his shoulder a bloody mess. Forgetting her brothers, she raced up to him, ready to drive her dagger right through his black heart.

"Gurth goth Tel'Quessir!" she shrieked above the howling wind and booming thunder, raising her hand to deliver the final blow. Without warning, Eldarion lunged at her, grabbing hold of Eomynne's arm and kicking her feet from under her. She fell, her arm twisting and breaking with a sickening crack. The ground was soft, but she cried out in agony, clutching her ruined arm, mud slopping into her mouth and clinging to her destroyed braid. Towering over her, Eldarion laughed, kicking her hard in the stomach, watching with glee and she moaned and curled into a ball, trying to defend herself from his brutal attacks.

Tears streamed from Eomynne's eyes as she struggled to sit up, her gaze burning with fury and hatred through the muddy hair that was smeared across her face. The rain was falling in a torrential downpour now, pouring in all direcions, thrown by the merciless wind. Both Eomynne and Eldarion were soaked to the skin, their bodies covered in squelching mud and flowing blood, their faces contorted with fury, illuminated by the lightening that streaked across the dark sky.

"Ona ta a'amin." He said firmly, gesturing to the bloody dagger where it lay beside Eomynne.

__

Give it to me.

"Amin nauva il on'lle ai'nat." Eomynne hissed.

__

I will not give you anything.

The sounds of guards approaching cut through the rain, and Eldarion turned to see five men-at-arms come running towards them, swords drawn. 

"Take the Ardarauko." He ordered, motioning to Eomynne.

The men pulled Eomynne to her feet, and she noticed Caelan was among them. He gave her a brief look, something she could not place in his grey eyes, then guided her away. Two of the guards stayed with Eldarion, and one began to inspect the wound in his shoulder. 

"I will take the woman back to her room." Caelan told the men with him. "Return to your posts. You are no longer needed."

The men gave a brief bow, then strode away.

Caelan snatched her right arm, pulling Eomynne towards her room. His eyes roved over her twisted arm with concern.

"What were you thinking?" he asked incredulously under his breath.

"I was trying to escape." Eomynne replied stiffly, biting her lip to keep from moaning in pain.

Caelan frowned.

"You did not have a chance." He muttered. "Eldarion could have you killed for this…"

"But he won't." Eomynne interupted.

"Do not be so sure."

Once they were safely back inside Eomynne's room, Caelan lit a fire in the large hearth, then boiled some water and stirred in crushed herbs. The smell wasn't altogether pleasant, but Eomynne didn't say anything. She continued to nurse her broken arm, holding it lightly close to her chest. She understood that it would need to be straightened back in place, but she didn't think she had enough courage to do it herself. Eomynne hoped that Caelan knew how to do it properly.

"Drink this." Caelan ordered, handing her a goblet with the odd smelling liquid in it, then draping a rough blanket around her shoulders. "It will dull the pain when I set the bone in your arm."

He cast a quick eye over her.

"It would also be wise to clean yourself up. The dirt will do nothing for the cut on your forehead."

Surprised, Eomynne reached up and tenderly touched her brow, then stared at her fingers in shock when she saw they were stained crimson. She didn't remember getting the cut, but it was there, and now that she realized it, it had begun to sting.

"Will you set the bone first?" she asked. "Or would it be best for me to bathe?"

Caelan shrugged.

"Either way, it will make no difference."

Eomynne decided she would rather have her arm taken care of before she attempted to clean and redress herself. She drank the liquid, then extended the broken limb as best she could, steeling herself for the innevidable pain to follow. Caelan squatted down beside her, then took hold of her arm tightly, causing a brief flash of pain to shoot up from her elbow. 

Caelan gave a small smile.

"It's going to hurt more than that." He told her, laughing a little.

Eomynne gave him a bitter smile in return.

Caelan grasped the limb again, then in one violent motion, he snapped the arm back in place. Eomynne nearly bit her tongue in two to keep from screaming. But as soon as it had begun, it was over, and the pain dulled to a heavy throb while Caelan pulled a smooth, flat stick from his pack and placed it along side her arm, tightly wrapping white cloth around the splint and pinning it in place.

"That will let the bone heal." Caelan explained. "Try to use your right arm for a while. It is going to take a long time for the bone to fix itself."

Eomynne sighed.

"I will do my best." She promised.

"Good."

Caelan rose and gathered his things together, checking to make sure she had all she needed before leaving. Once the door had closed, Eomynne hauled her aching body off the bed and heated some more water for a bath. Being carefull of her arm, she undressed herself. The basins of water had heated up by the time she was finished, and she poured them into the tub, sinking in gratefully once it was full. She scrubbed roughly at her muddy skin, and washed her long hair four times before she was satisfied it was clean.

After toweling herself dry and dressing again, Eomynne was utterly exhausted, and even though it was only a few hours past midday, she climbed into bed again and pulled the covers close.

Within a few moments, she was alseep, the storm still raging on outside.

Nathaniel stared blankly at the wall from where he sat on the floor at the foot of his bed. Three gold balls were placed a few feet away from him, glimmering in their lovely way. At his silent command, the balls began rolling around in a circle, one following the other. Without stopping they rose into the air, still spinning and chasing, until another object joined the fray, a fourth gold ball much larger than the other three. As if it had a life of its own, the fourth ball approached one of the three, then tapped it, causing the glimmering sphere to tumble to the ground, stopping a hand span from the floor. The fourth ball continued on, tapping the other two in turn, and each fell to the ground, stopping a hand span from the floor, just as the first had done. Once each of the three had been tapped, the fourth followed them to the floor and sat itself daintily upon Nathaniel's outstretched palm. Without a word, the three gold balls clattered to the ground, rolling away in various directions.

Like Hasana, Nathaniel understood what a waste of the craft such simple displays were, but he practiced them nonetheless. He always got better, so it wasn't necissarily a total waste. Assilan didn't like it much when he did it though, but he was barely around anyway, so it didn't matter.

Closing his eyes, Nathaniel made a brief attempt to try to reach Cigry, but the Elf was locked away in his own despairing thoughts, and would not allow him to enter. Nathaniel gave a small shove at the walls Cigry had erected around his mind, but they stayed firmly in place. Either he didn't want to talk, or he couldn't. Nathaniel was anxious to know how the Elven Lord was faring, but it seemed he would not find out then. When Cigry felt like speaking to him, he would. Until then, Nathaniel would just have to wait.

With a heavy sigh, Nathaniel went back to his golden balls, watching with complete disinterest as they spun and dipped and dived. A lock of brown hair drooped over his eyes, and he brushed it away. The balls did not falter no hesitate. They could continue on even if he closed his eyes. They could spin and dip and dive even if he was in the next room. As long as he knew where they were, they would move as he willed them to. Such was the extent of his power, that he could talk to the Elves in their Haven if he so wished. He didn't know anyone there, so it would be extremely difficult, but all the same, he could if he wished to. 

There was a sudden loud thump on his door, and Nathaniel jumped, surprised after his long morning of complete and utter silence. He watched the door with his colourless eyes, wondering if he'd only been dreaming, but after a few short moments, there was another thump, followed by one more, this time louder and more insistent.

Sighing, Nathaniel pulled himself to his feet, striding towards the door and knowing instantly who it would be. He could have felt Assilan's cold presence even if he was miles away, and just standing on the other side, he gave off waves of bitter cruelty and malice, sinking into Nathaniel's skin and burrowing under his nails. It was a very unpleasant feeling, but Nathaniel knew that if he did not open the door and let him in, Assilan would become very angry indeed, and then it would just be worse. Nathaniel often wondered how one man could be so evil, and still be alive, living, breathing just as everyone else did.

"Open the door." Came a low voice from the other side.

Nathaniel obeyed, unhooking the various chains and locks and sliding the deadbolt free, swinging it open and stepping aside. Assilan swept in with a great flourish, shutting the door behind him. He gave Nathaniel a hollow smile, then pulled a chair away from Nathaniel's desk and sat casually, crossing his legs at the ankles.

Nathaniel hid a grimmace, trying to slither into Assilan's mind just for the fun of it. Even though the man didn't have a scrap of craft in him, he somehow knew when Nathaniel attempted this, and always had a strong and unbreakable barrier in place, one that was more than extremely difficult for Nathaniel to break. This time was no exception. The wall around his mind was just as real as if it had been stone and mortar, and did not give in the slightest after Nathaniel's various shoves and slams. Somewhat dissapointed, Nathaniel crawled back into his own mind, finally letting his grimmace loose.

"Another failure?" Assilan chuckled, eyeing him carefully.

"I have to say," Nathaniel began, "that even though you are evil in every sense, and have an aura that could kill a cow, your mind is extremely strong."

Assilan's smile dissapeared. He was obviously insulted, but chose not to say anything. Nathaniel felt his heart leap at this small victory. He rarely gained any ground with Assilan, and even something so small as insulting him, and having the man _be_ insulted was enough for Nathaniel.

"I came here to inform you that tommorow you will meet with the Lady Hasana." Assilan told him. "She is another captive within Eldarion's palace, and has similar talents to yours."

Nathaniel was confused. 

"I know whom you speak of." He replied slowly. "But why does Eldarion wish us to meet?"

Assilan smiled coldly.

"That is none of your concern. You will know when the time is right."

With that, Assilan rose again and strode towards the door. He stopped abruptly, and turned, going back to Nathaniel's side and clutching the side of his face tightly and twining his fingers in Nathaniel's hair. 

"Do not tire yourself out." Assilan whispered, holding Nathaniel's colourless gaze. "I will not have my things become unusable. You are mine." he caressed Nathaniel's cheek with his thumb, as if in a reminder. "You are mine forever. Do not forget that."

And then he was gone, leaving Nathaniel to stand alone in his room, trembling and shaking as if he would never stop. The storm outside raged on, but Nathaniel scarcely heard it for the screams inside his head were suddenly very clear, and as he fell backwards in a faint, a vision passed before his eyes of a woman, kneeling beside a man and wailing as if she'd lost everything that was ever precious to her, her face contorted with agony and despair. 

Then all was gone, and he knew no more.

A/N: Well, I have various things to say here. First of all, I must note that all the Elvish used in this story is mostly a rough translation. My source is a very reliable site, but I do not know how accurate their translations are. Second, I am no doctor, and the way Caelan set Eomynne's arm could have been totally wrong. I'm just guessing. Third and final, I realize how that last bit with Nathaniel and Assilan was kind of on the slashy side, but I promise that's not what I meant at all. I wanted to convey how precious Nathaniel is to Assilan( the source of all his power) and that if he didn't have him captive, he would have very little influence in Eldarion's court. If you want to believe that Assilan has lusty feelings for Nathaniel, go ahead. I cannot stop you. But, that is not what I intend to convey. So anyway, R&R!!!!!!!!!! I NEED reviews! Please review! Tell me what you think! Please please please?! 


	9. Conference

A/N: Hmm di diddle…..*sigh* It seems all I can do lately is spout nonsense….Exams are here and there's no running away now. Two done, four to go….blasted math….useless french….boring, dry english…..and socials. Nothing much to say about socials. Mr. Spanjers gave us all the questions anyway.^_^ But yes, I still have four awfull exams to write, so it could take me another week or so to finish this. Depends. I've got till midnight today to write, since my parents are out….Ross can take care of himself. So yeah, let's hope I get a good chunk of this done right now, so you all don't have to wait forever….

P.S: And in response to Lady of Legolas' review: Eldarion is very hurt by what happened to his sister, and by what happened to his best friend. The race of men are known for their brash and violent decisions. He is doing what comes naturaly to him. And Arwen is dead. If you read the Appendix in the Return of the King under the tale of Aragorn and Arwen, you will see that after Aragorn's death, Arwen leaves Gondor and goes to Lothlorien where she eventually dies. So yeah, she knows nothing of what Eldarion is doing, so unless she can come back from the dead to give her son a good kick in the arse, I doubt she's going to do anything about it.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty much feeling like crap right now. If you would like to risk my mindless fury, then I suggest you do not sue, because I don't write this for money, just enjoyment….and perhaps being able to do anything to the characters that I like…*twisted grin* Yeah, so I'm sick. Deal with it. I might hurl my science notes at you if you sue, so watch out, they could probably crush your head.

Chapter Nine

It had been one week, and still they had no word. Galadriel had said they would wait two weeks before going after Eomynne and her brothers, but Haldir was completely ready to go now. He could not sleep, he barely ate, and each wave that crashed against the Haven's shore was a blow to his heart, another second wasted. Because that was all they were doing; waiting and wasting time.Eomynne, or her brothers, or all three could be rotting away in some dank, dreary cell for all they knew, and still they hesitated. 

Haldir often found himself watching the coastline, hoping in vain that he would see the unfurled white sail of a ship, and hear the horn blown from the prow, announcing the arrival of whoever it was onboard. He often found himself lying restlessly on the branch of a reaching mallorn tree, trying to remember Eomynne's face, but finding he could not. 

That hurt the most.

She'd only been gone close to a month, and already he had forgotten her; forgotten the thing that meant everything to him. She was like a sister, or a close cousin, a fair and radiant maiden who you wanted to protect and keep safe from the moment you set eyes on her. But he couldn't protect her. Not even if he'd wanted to go with them, Eomynne would not have let him. She was always too strong to admit she needed help. She would try to fix everything herself, even if she was hurt along the way.

And Haldir would have gone with her if he could. He would have done everything in his power to make sure he got on that boat which would take her away from him. He couldn't quite fully trust in her brothers to keep her safe, for Caelidur would forget about Eomynne instantly if he had a chance to slit Eldarion's throat, and Elleduil was a magnificent warrior, but he wasn't skilled enough to protect both Eomynne and himself. But in the end, Galadriel had stopped him, saying he had duties in the Haven, and was needed too much to go off on a mission that was both dangerous and completely insane just to most likely get himself killed. He'd been terribly insulted that she thought him incapable, but he'd had relatively no choice, so he stayed, and did his work, and tried to ignore thoughts of Eomynne in Eldarion's hands that crept up on him when he least expected them.

It was late afternoon on the twenty-fouth of November when Haldir approached Elrond in his grand house, built amongst the tall mallorns as if it had been there forever, storming past the guards and walking swiftly up the wiry staircase. Two more guards stopped him on his way just before the grand double doors, spears held up straight in front of them, their lovely faces expressionless.

"I wish to see the Lord Elrond." Haldir explained, his hazel eyes stern and authoritive. "I have important matters to discuss with him."

"State your title and rank." The guard on the left replied, as if Haldir had said nothing.

Haldir repressed the urge to growl with rage, taking a deep, calming breath.

"I am Haldir of the Galadhrim, Elves of Lothlorien, son of Letheranil. I was the Watcher of the Northern Borders until I took the ship to the Havens."

The two Elven men regarded this silently, giving eachother a brief glance before announcing whether or not he would be allowed to enter. Haldir waited as patiently as he could, fuming silently that they did not seem to know who he was.

"I will tell Lord Elrond you are here." The guard on the left said firmly, then strode away, his grey cloak billowing in his wake. The one on the right gave Haldir a funny look, a calculating expression in his light green eyes.

"You were at the harbour when the children of Legolas Greenleaf left." He noted, flexing his slender fingers around the shaft of his curving spear. "You asked to go with them, but the Lady Galadriel refused."

"I have duties here." Haldir replied stiffly. "I did not realize it at the time. I feared for their safety. They are only children."

The guard didn't seem to believe him, but said nothing else.

The other soon reapeared, stopping beside his comrade.

"The Lord Elrond grants you permission to see him. You may enter, but leave your weapons with me."

He extended one hand, ready to take the large dagger which hung around Haldir's waist. Haldir was slightly insulted that they would think he meant harm to the Lord Halfelven, but pinched his lips and unsheathed his precious dagger nonetheless, although very reluctant to leave it in the care of a man who seemed to have a dislike for him. 

Once the dagger was in the possession of the guard, Haldir strode past the two and up through the doors, knowing his way without having to even think of it. The halls were open to the forest outside, shafts of light falling through the intertwining branches and casting a gold sheen along the bare floor, making the surface glitter and shine. Haldir felt himself smiling a little. It was so similar to the Golden Wood, it made his heart sing, and yet mourn at the same time. He shuddered to think of what the men of Gondor might have done with it now that they had all control of Middle Earth.

"Haldir." Came a voice from behind him, startling him from his reverie.

Haldir turned to see Elrond approach, a picture in deep red robes of finest silk. The circlet around his flawless brow caught the light and was sent into a shimmering fire, making Haldir blink a little before he stepped into shade again.

"You came to speak with me?"

"Yes." Haldir responded, bowing his head in respect. "I came to discuss with you Eomynne and her brothers…."

Elrond stopped him, raising one fine hand. His eyes held a deep hurt in them, almost a burden.

"We the Council made our decision," he said firmly. "and to that we hold. Two weeks, no more no less. If we go to Middle Earth, we go only _once_. By all accounts, we should not be leaving the Haven at all, but this time we are making an exception."

Haldir would not be deterred.

"But my Lord." he protested. "If we wait, they may be killed before we can arrive….."

"I will not discuss this." Elrond cut in, striding closer to Haldir. "Do not forget your place, Haldir of Lorien. You may have taken part in the Council, but this is _not_ your decision."

His eyes were firm. Haldir couldn't help but feel the urge to lower his gaze under the power and authority radiating from their clear and ageless depths.

"Trust in the wisdom of myself and that of Galadriel. We make this decision in the best interests of all involved. We risk the lives of many to save Legolas' children. The safety of those who go cannot be compromised."

Haldir said nothing.

There was a long silence between them, and the wind picked up, blowing an array of multicoloured leaves around them, swirling under their cloaks in an unorganized dance.

"You love her, do you not?" Elrond asked abruptly, the stern aura around him fading slightly.

Haldir did not need to ask whom he meant.

"I do not know." He replied truthfuly, unable to meet the Lord's clear gaze. "I am uncertain whether what I feel is likewise to the love I feel for Legolas, as he is like a brother to me, or as the love a man would feel for a woman deep inside his heart."

Elrond gave a grave nod.

"These things are often not revealed to us. There may come a time when you may know, but you must keep in mind that perhaps she is not yours to love. She may be destined for another."

Haldir sighed. "I realize that. Some perhaps, would consider it improper, for she is but a child, while I have seen many ages."

"Hmm." Elrond agreed. "Perhaps you could discuss this with her? When she returns?"

Haldir could not keep the slight blush from creeping onto his fair cheeks. He didn't think he would have the courage to do that, espescially if her brothers were close by. It dissapeared entirely though, as another thought crossed his mind. 

"_If_ she returns." He whispered, his voice a thread of sound. "I must come with those who are going. I cannot wait. You must let me go."

Elrond seemed ready to immediately object, but paused, reconsidering when he saw the helplessness in Haldir's normally self-assured, almost arrogant gaze. He clearly felt much for Legolas' daughter. Elrond did not think he would stay in the Haven even if he said no. There was only one choice, to let him go.

"You may accompany my men." He sighed. "Legolas will be going as well, along with a select group of his own men from Mirkwood. We are not taking many. Stealth is our weapon, not force."

Haldir nodded, eternally thankful to the Elven Lord.

"One week." He said. "I will wait one week. That is all. I will not leave my own kin to be tortured and killed by Eldarion's hand. We will take them back."

Elrond sighed.

"Let us hope you are right."

There was much unrest within Eldarion's court. The brothers were quarelling again, completely against the idea of using Nathaniel to their own ends. Eldarion had not revealed his entire plan to them, but had dropped hints here and there, giving the impression Nathaniel's ability to speak mind to mind would be utilized to communicate with the Elves of the Haven. He would not tell them the full extent of the venture, but he needed their agreement. Nathaniel was, after all, their brother. 

"He is a traitor." Domic spat, his heated gaze reaching all those seated at the long, ebony table. "He would lie to us, give us false information. He cannot be trusted."

"What if we threatened to end lives?" Essien suggested, regarding his brother closely.

Cyrus snorted in contempt.

"I doubt he would care." He said darkly. "If he can turn his back on his own family, he can do anything without scruples."

Eldarion watched the entire exchange without so much as a word. He wanted to see if they could work it out by themselves. He had reason to believe some of them were loosing faith in his cause. If they truly wanted all that he worked for, then they would not take long to reach a decision. However, if they looked at every option, gave every reason to suggest that Nathaniel could not be used, then it would be obvious they wanted him to fail. Eldarion had known for a long while the full extent of Nathaniel's power, and had decided beforehand, that whatever came of the council, he would use him. There was simply no reason not to.

"Nathaniel _would_ care about the lives of innocent people." Simeon put in, drumming his fingers lightly against the polished surface of the table. "That is the kind of person he is. But I think he would realize it is easier to give in right away. Nathaniel is not stupid. He knows he is never to be set free. His best option is to do what he is told, and keep away from punishment. He might as well make his imprisonment as best as it can be."

__

Good answer Simeon, Eldarion thought, smiling to himself.

His eyes strayed to where Caelan sat, arms folded across his broad chest. He seemed somewhat aloof, as if he was just there to keep up appearances, and had no care for Nathaniel's fate. His eyes were distant, focused on a point far away. He was clearly thinking about something very hard.

"What is your opinion Caelan?" Eldarion asked loudly, stopping whoever was talking in mid-sentence. All the brothers turned to look at the man, waiting for his answer.

Caelan was unfazed.

"Whatever you decide my Lord, I will agree with." He replied softly, giving Eldarion a brief glance before returning to his thoughts. His brothers didn't seem to know what to say. Domic gave him an odd look, and Essien coughed awkwardly.

"Well then." Eldarion murmured, unsatisfied with his answer. "I suppose I should make a decision then."

There was an expectant hush. All eyes were on him, waiting anxiously.

He rose, meeting the gazes of each of the men in turn.

"I will use Nathaniel." He said. "In two days time we will take our first step in conquering over the race of the Elves. I expect all you to be here, at sundown. Make sure you are not late."

With that he moved his chair aside and strode from the room, closing the door loudly behind him. The brothers all left their seats, talking amongst themselves quietly. Caelan however, moved apart from them, approaching the window closest to him. From where he stood, he could just see the east wall of the courtyard where the captives were being held. 

He closed his eyes and sighed.

Despite conflicting emotions within him, he hoped they would not be harmed.

A/N: Ok, I know it's short. But as I said before, exams are here, and I will have zero time to write in this next week, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to wait another week for this chapter. And I know I am kind of drawing this out longer than it has to be. But I wanted some buildup to the upcoming event, since it will have an important part in the plot. So yeah, hope you enjoyed, and R&R!!!!!!!!! Also, I do not know what Haldir's father's name is. I'm taking another liberty in making it up. Don't get angry! ^_^


	10. Message

A/N: Yay! Exams are over! Finally I get some free time this weekend. Four day weekend! [hops around looking very happy] Yeah, so I went to see TTT again today with my cousin. Much fun abound. And she's sleeping over aswell, but she's raelly tired because she had another sleepover last night. Say hello Jessie! [JK flaps hand lazily, muttering gibberish somewhat to the effect of: Stop bothering me] Wave back everyone! Ok. Anywayz, this chapter should be longer then the others. I don't know yet, because I haven't written it. All I can do is hope. R&R!!!!!!!! 

Disclaimer: I own nothing. So there! Nyah!

Chapter Ten

It rained heavily again. It seemed winter was finally upon Gondor, and had decided to never give folk any reason to believe otherwise. The cobblestone streets were awash with pelting water, what few trees and shrubs there were thrown around mercilessly by the howling, biting wind. A great chill settled over the city of Minas Tirith, leaving the mornings to be cold beyond anything anyone could remember having felt before in their short, or long lives. Folk were often left with the great desire to stay inside and hibernate, even though there was still much to be done, and Hasana was one of the many who were very grateful they didn't have any pressing matters to attend to. She could simply sit in bed all morning if it suited her, watching outside glumly into the bleary, grey sky. 

This certain morning however, when Hasana woke, she was gripped with such a despairing chill that sitting in bed and doing nothing was quickly out of the question. She rose and dressed, trying in vain to ignore the great shivers striking up and down her spine every few moments. Her stomach was a knot of worry, and she paced relentlessly around her large, spacious room, ordering various objects to rise into the air and follow her around just for the sake of doing something. Hasana could tell that Eldarion's plan would begin to take shape that day, and couldn't help but feel utterly hopeless and anxious.

After her last meeting with Eldarion, Hasana was completely sure that something was going to happen, something that involved her, and the other man, Nathaniel, her….brother. Hasana could only think of one thing she was useful for, and that was her craft. Folk like her were rare. Some believed they were of the Istari, but Hasana knew that was far from the truth. She was no wizard. She may have had powers, but that didn't necissarily mean that she was one of the Maiar, one alike to Mithrandir of the Tale of the One Ring, or of the White Wizard Saruman. Her kind were different in every sense of the word, and could never hope to be a part of any race. They were set apart, and would always be that way, which made them very valuable to those in search of power and domination. If someone like Eldarion could persuade one of her kind to join on his side, there would be nothing out of his reach. The Istari were indeed more powerful in terms of force, but Hasana's kind were more powerful in terms of subtlety, of subterfuge, and of knowing things that the Istari could only dream of. 

The fact that Eldarion was using both her and Nathaniel in his venture, was not a comforting thought in the least.

Her insides a knot of worry, Hasana approached the large glass doors leading out onto her small balcony, placing one palm against the cool surface. Through the dark she could see down onto Gondor, where most houses' windows were lit with a faint orange light, flickering bravely against the storm. Not more than a handful of men were scurrying about in the streets, holding cloaks tightly about them to protect their clothes from being soaked through, carrying large loads or driving carts and wagons through causeways and market squares. Out in the fields beyond the last gate, a dark shape shudered against the wind, a cluster of tents pitched in a close circle where men-at-arms waited to be dispatched. Hasana almost felt sorry for them, out in the storm, away from family and friends. But no matter how pitiful she felt, Hasana could not forget what they were waiting for, what they would do if they were asked.

Unable to look any longer, Hasana turned away from the doors and sat down at her vanity, resting her chin upon one hand. She gave her reflection a worried look, her brow creased, lips ever so slightly pursed. She looked pale, and a little sick too. Hasana had never eaten much anyway, but as of late, her appetite had faded considerably. It was unwise to stop eating completely, Hasana knew that of course, but she just didn't have the heart anymore. With Cigry locked away in the dungeons, she had seemingly lost herself. She didn't feel like she once had; serene, calm, wise. She almost felt…..like she had been before, before everything had happened, before Bren, before Lothlorien, before Cigry. Like a youth, an ignorant, oblivious, naïve little girl, who believed that good always won and bad always lost. 

She almost didn't remember it anymore, her previous life, with its stories, and dancing, and warm hearths where you would sit in your mother's lap and forget all your worries. It was a simple life, but it was good, and even wonderful sometimes. She could hardly remember running free along the jagged shore, the cliff face rising above her into the azure sky; the first time she'd gone fishing with her father and actually caught a shimmering little silver fish. She could hardly recall her first kiss, when she was only twelve, sitting behind the mill with Finnlan, the iron smith's eldest son, who was fourteen, the love of her life for three years. 

And her brothers, the seven good sons of Cillum, who had always said they believed in all that was good in the world, who had been there for their small, unassuming little sister, who had loved her and cared for her, and done everything they could to keep her safe, and who now were minions of Eldarion and his disgusting "cause". How had they been fooled so easily? How could they have _ever_ believed that what they were doing was right? But….there was Assilan, who could not keep his hands to himself, and had so quickly tricked Cillum and his wife into believeing their daughter was dead. Assilan was a chief part of Eldarion's organisation, and had no doubt used his subtle influence over the family to rein them in. Hasana could barely keep the bile from rising in her throat when she thought of him. He'd violated her sister….well, in truth, Bren was not her sister, but all the same, he'd touched, and hurt someone who was as close to her as any human being ever could be. How could he ever forget that?

"He wouldn't forget it." She whispered ever so softly, barely even able to hear herself. "He wouldn't….he couldn't…."

Without warning, tears began to escape from her eyes, rolling slowly but surely over her pale cheeks, dribbling down her chin and resting in the corners of her mouth. She didn't even know why she was crying. It was just happening, and she didn't know why.

Lowering her head, she rested her face on the smooth cherry wood, her hand still raised and lying limp in the air. The tears continued to fall, steadily and freely, but she hardly took notice of them. She closed her eyes and pictured Cigry's face in her mind, long and smooth, fair as any of his Elven kin, with deep, ever changing eyes, and long, ebony hair. He was a proud man, one who knew himself, his strengths, his weaknesses. He was a man whom she loved, though she could hardly tell why. She just…..did. He'd always said if you truly loved someone, you did not need to know why, or have to tell people why, you just knew. And that was how she felt.

"Tula n'alaquel." She sobed quietly. "Amin anta lle."

_Come back. I need you._

"Amin gurthuva avaene lle."

_I shall die without you._

But he did not respond. He could not respond. He was just a picture inside her head, a picture of a memory, of a time that could never be again. He would die in his cell, and she would die in her cell. Eventually they would both be gone, and no one would mourn their deaths. There would be no one who cared enough to be grieved that they were dead, who would think of them fondly in their life, and pray for their safe journey to the halls of Mandos. But, Hasana was not an Elf. That would not be where she would go. Even in death they would be without eachother, separated, apart as they had been in life, without hope or reason to continue living. No reason but to serve another's purpose, another's dream and goal. Eldarion's purpose. Assilan's purpose.

How had this happened? 

How?

_You do not need to know that._

"What?!" Hasana cried, sitting bolt upright in her chair. That voice….Who's voice had that been? It was inside her head, and that could only mean….

_Cigry?!_

There was a pause. A heavy, awkward pause. She waited, wondering all the while if she'd only been dreaming, wishing for him, hoping…..

_No. I am not Cigry. Though I understand why you would think that._

Hasana nearly burst into tears again, clutching at her chest to keep herself from screaming her pain to the world. It was not him. It would never be him. How could she have ever thought she would hear him? She had tried before, oh how she had tried…..But never, she'd never been able to hear him. Why would she hear him, now of all times?

_Who are you?! How dare you speak his name?!_

She could barely constrain her suffering, her agony. It spilled into her mind, blurring her words into a furious mess of jumbled emotion, twisting what she wanted to say into something entirely different.

_I know him, Cigry. I've spoken to him. He tells me he misses you, that he is dying without you._

How?! How is it that you can hear him, while I cannot?!

I myself do not know. If Cigry does, he is not telling.

Hasana gripped her face, holding her aching head in both hands. How did this person know Cigry? How could he ever know?

_Who **are** you?_

Another long pause. The wind had died to a dull roar in Hasana's ears. She could barely hear anything but the horrible, painful silence inside her mind.

_I am Nathaniel. I am sure you know who I am, do you not?_

Nathaniel? Her brother? He was one of her kind?

_I don't understand…Nathaniel? Brother….?_

I am not your brother. You know that.

Hasana stopped, taking a deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into the skin on her face she was holding on so hard. Her cheeks had been flushed with tears only moments before. Now, she was trembling with a strange chill, the redness gone from her skin. 

_But you were…. _She insisted. _In a sense I suppose…._

That is true. But, that is not what I am here to speak with you about. You know about Eldarion's plan, correct?

Hasana sighed heavily.

_Yes…yes I suppose. Not the finer details of course…._

No, you wouldn't. Neither do I. But you know, that they are going to use us to their own ends?

Yes. But why? What for?

That is not important right now. There was a sense of urgency in his voice now. _When we meet, later today, we will be watched very closely. This moment is our only time we can talk freely._

Hasana was slightly confused.

_What is it you wish to know?_

You knew Bren, our…..sister, she was not human, nor Elf, nor dwarf, nor hobbit, or of any creature that walks Middle Earth, correct?

Yes. And… I am like her. I was made by the Lady Galadriel….

Yes, yes. I do know that. I always knew of course. But you knew she was recreated by Galadriel after her death? That she was in the Haven waiting for Legolas before he sailed with the dwarf Gimli?

Yes.

And you knew she bore children?

"What?!" Hasana cried aloud, her voice rebounding around the room. There was a clap of thunder as if to echo her surprise. She took a moment to regain herself, before replying.

_N-No. I did not know that._

Hmm. Well, she did. Three children. Two boys, and a girl. Their names are Eomynne, Caelidur and Elleduil, and unless you have not seen them already, they are being held captive within this very castle.

Hasana gasped, holding one hand to her mouth. Two boys, a girl….Those were the three in the courtyard, the ones she had observed. No wonder their energy had lasted for so long….A union between Bren and Legolas could only result in such strong, and valiant children. It disgusted her to think that innocents such as them could still be touched by Eldarion's hand.

_How did this happen? Surely they did not come here by free choice?_

It was their choice. All three expressed a wish to leave the Haven, a wish that was strengthened by their knowledge of Eldarion and his evil plans. I myself am surprised, and somewhat appalled that this was allowed.

I do not believe this….They thought they could stop Eldarion? What foolishness is this?

It was perhaps madness that drove them here, but we cannot change what is. It is very apparent that they are in mortal danger. I fear Eldarion will use them as bait to drive the Elves here. And to do that, they must use us.

To do what?!

To talk to them.

It all became very clear, suddenly, the scope of Eldarion's plan. He would use the children as bait….the Elves would come….he would capture them, or kill them, and find the way to the Haven….and then….

"No." Hasana whispered, horrofied. "No no no…."

If Eldarion found the way to the Haven, all would be lost. None could stand in his way. He would loose men…of course, it was innevitable, but overall, he would slaughter every single one of the Elven kind he set eyes on. _This_ was his plan. To fully erradicate the Elven race; make sure there was no way for them to come back. He would not be satisfied by his work on Middle Earth. He must destroy _all_ of them, down to the last woman and child. 

_We cannot let them know of this! If they come, all will be lost….Eldarion will win…._

Yes. It is cruel that the three children of Legolas should bear the blow, should die. But it is all we can do. There is no other way. We will not let them know.

But, what if Eldarion forces us? What if he threatens lives…? He does not care for anything but his plan…He would not care if more died for his purpose

We will refuse. No matter what. Do you promise me, to do this?

Hasana hesitated a moment before replying. Could she do that? Refuse no matter what Eldarion threatened to do?

__

I…I will do my best.

That isn't good enough. You must promise me. **Promise** me Hasana.

I-I promise.

Good. Then I will see you later. Take care until then….

Wait! Wait! I want to ask you something!

But he was already gone. Her inner voice echoed away into silence. No one replied.

Nathaniel drew back into his own mind, his brow creased with worry. There was a fine sheen of sweat along his forehead, and he wiped it away fervently, uncrossing his legs and standing on shaky feet. Speaking for so long had never taken so much out of him before. He was slightly surprised that he was as tired and dizzy as he felt. He slumped against the nearby wall, closing his eyes and breathing slowly, trying to calm himself down. For the briefest of moments, he felt as though he were falling, swirling in dizzying circles, and then it was gone, and he lay his hand against the smooth surface, barely holding himself up. His legs felt like jelly, and he would not stop trembling.

"Calm down." He instructed himself softly, even his voice wavering a little. "Just calm down."

After what seemed like an eternity, he allowed himself to slide to the floor again, lying down and curling into a tight ball. Now that he had stopped shaking, Nathaniel felt utterly exhausted, and it took all his remaining strength not to fall asleep right away. 

Outside, the storm was raging on as fierce as ever, and despite being inside, Nathaniel shivered once, somehow feeling the icy wind on his exposed skin. He felt almost bare, as if a layer of skin had been stripped away, and he was all new and clean now, unused to feeling cold, and strained, and alone. His mind was as empty and dry as a husk, and even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have thought of anything at all, even to wonder what he'd like to eat for dinner if he had a choice.

With a faint, wheezy sigh, Nathaniel closed his eyes slowly, uncurling his fingers from where they'd fisted into a ball. He immediately felt better, if only a little, and it seemed his body gave a sigh of thankyou in return. He let his mind wander, flying high above the palace and soaring through the grey clouds, briefly touching the minds of various birds crazy enough to be flying in such whether, but finding nothing except: _Seek shelter. Find food._ He wasn't surprised at all. Birds had a one track mind. They weren't the kind of animals to stop and think. 

It seemed it had only been a few moments since he'd closed his eyes, but suddenly, someone was nudging him in the side with the toe of their boot, muttering things to him that his hazy head couldn't seem to register. Groaning with the pain in seemingly every limb of his body, Nathaniel rolled over, squinting up to the person leaning over him.

He shivered.

It was Assilan.

"What are you doing?" he asked impatiently, a slight tone of worry in his smooth voice. "You're not trying to tire yourself out are you?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Nathaniel murmured bitterly, sitting up and clutching at his head when the room began to spin.

Assilan crouched down beside him, staring at him intensely. Nathaniel tried not to shiver again under his close scrutiny. The other man's eyes were dark and serious. He seemed to be summing him up again, no doubt wondering if Nathaniel was still a worthy investment.

"What were you doing?"

Nathaniel tried to be nonchalant.

"Talking to the birds?"

The blow came hard and fast. In one swift motion, Assilan slapped him forcefully and was now clutching his shoulders in a very uncomfortable way. Nathaniel's cheek throbbed painfully, but he ignored it as best as he could.

"Do not play with me." Assilan hissed, teeth clenched together. "I will not have you doing this to yourself. If you choose to do so, then others will suffer for your misguided hope. Make no mistake, if Eldarion cannot use you tommorow, there will be other days. There will _always_ be other days. Eldarion can wait, Nathaniel. He is a very patient person."

Nathaniel curbed the very sudden urge to spit in Assilan's face, and give him a good sharp kick where he knew it would hurt the most. He wanted to. Oh he wanted to very badly. But that would not improve his situation. There was only one option, and that was to obey, for now. Later, he would refuse to do Eldarion's bidding, but now was not the time to reveal his own true plans. If Hasana held true to her promise, then they would both be useless to Eldarion. He knew for a fact that Hasana and himself were two of the only three remaining of their kind. The third was living on a farm west of Hobbiton and its inhabitants, and was still very unaware of who, and what he was. Eldarion would never find another to help him. If they both refused, his plan would fall apart, and the Elves would be safe.

"Who are you to speak Assilan?" he replied, allowing himself the chance to kick Assilan verbaly, if not physically. "Here you are telling me to be carefull, and yet you slapped me just now. Eldarion won't be happy if I'm damaged goods."

Nathaniel could see Assilan was furious, but he did nothing. He merely glared at Nathaniel, a glare that spoke volumes, and made him recoil a little. He'd always been afraid of Assilan on the inside, though he rarely let it show. 

"When am I to meet with Hasana?" he asked, meeting the glare full on.

Assilan moved back a little, the fierceness fading a fraction from his eyes.

"Later. You need not know when. I will come and fetch you." He paused, clutching Nathaniel's face again, like he always did, as if he needed to be reminded Nathaniel was still there, and still his. "For now, lie in your bed and do nothing. I tell you this, for every day we must wait, another life will be taken. It will be easier if none must die, but they will, if they must."

He took a ragged breath, rubbing Nathaniel's cheek again with his thumb, and Nathaniel was all too aware of the energy between them, an energy that told him Assilan loved this, took pleasure in watching him suffer, keeping him captive. A kind of pleasure that even the most beautiful woman could never duplicate. 

For one crazy moment, Nathaniel thought he could see something akin to lust burning in Assilan's dark eyes, but when he looked again, there was nothing but cruelty, and malice flaming there. 

Finally, Assilan pulled away, and Nathaniel let his body ease.

"I will be back soon." Assilan told him, turning on his heel and exiting the room in a swish of his cloak. Nathaniel waited until he was sure he wasn't going to come back, before going over to his bed and lying down as instructed. He let himself sink into the warm fabric, closing his eyes and laying both hands across his stomach, one on the other. 

Then he freed his mind, feeling all his previous thoughts fly away, and slept.

The Haven was cool. Night had long since fallen, and the stars shone like a blanket of diamonds in the sky. There was a faint breeze, one which had no apparent direction, and seemed to blow in all directions at once, drifting through open doors and windows and caressing the faces of the sleeping Elves, their bright eyes open, the surfaces glazed with the promise of sweet, and untainted dreams.

A great silence hung over the land, broken now and again by the faint call of an owl, or the scurrying of night animals in the large, towering mallorn trees. Across the fields, the breeze rippled the long grass, giving the illusion of an ocean of green, the waves gliding over hills and down valleys, dissapearing and soon replaced by another right behind it. 

Only one, it seemed, was awake that night, awake and fully able to appreciate the beauty of the dark. They sat by a window in their great house amongst the trees, staring out into the sky, their own eyes clear and unfogged by sleep. The moon cast a shimmering light across their white blonde hair, making it sparkle in the shadows. 

"Lisse'Elbereth." He whispered, his soft voice full of power. "Poika honnea en'edain."

__

Sweet Elbereth. Clean the hearts of men.

"Vara Tel'Quessir tuulo'cama en'huine."

__

Protect The People from hands of darkness.

"Eldarion, chil en Elessar, naa maura a'val. Ho rutha vasa ho fea."

__

Eldarion, heir of Elessar, is addicted to power. His anger consumes his spirit.

He paused.

"Fallana ho."

__

Heal him. 

"Mela ho."

__

Love him.

"Karna ho lle."

__

Make him yours.

His smooth, powerful voice faded into silence, the prayer hanging in the air as if it were a tangible thing. His fair face was troubled, and his eyes held a fear in them, unbridled and free. He could not deny, even to himself, that he was greatly afraid of what horrors might await Valinor and his people, if Eldarion were to gain passage. Elbereth had guided him all his life, her star shining on him clearly even in the darkest, and most hopeless night, but now he began to doubt. It was not a feeling he was familiar with. He didn't like it, and feared that its presence might bring with it other things; things that he had never experienced and never wished to. Now was not the time for change. He had never changed, and hoped he never would, but the wind was carrying promises, ones that did not bode well with his already troubled spirit. 

Behind him, there was a rustle of light fabric as his wife shifted in bed, and he could feel, rather than see her beautiful eyes unfogging and becoming as deep and ageless as ever. She said nothing, but her knowing gaze was fixed full on his back, and he could tell she suspected something.

"Why do you not sleep?" she asked, again shifting under the thin sheets. Beyond the words was a power, one which would always infuse her voice, even in the most tender of moments. It was a power he could only hope to ever obtain.

"My thoughts are far from at ease." He replied to her. "My dreams have been troubled as of late. Do you not feel it as well? There is something stirring, which cannot be good. Something with the ability to trouble me beyond words. I have not felt this way since the rise of Sauron."

There was a brief pause. He heard his wife rise and move towards him, lightly placing one hand upon his shoulder. Through the rich fabric of his robe, he could feel the buzz of power held captive within Nenya on his wife's slender finger. It made him shiver, but he said nothing in comment. 

"Yes." She said softly, deep in her throat. "Yes I do feel it. I am troubled, as you are, but perhaps for different reasons….."

With a smooth, fluid motion, she slid into the chair beside him, her gaze fixed outside now.

"How so?"

Her thin lips twitched a little.

"The children of Legolas Greenleaf are in danger. I have always known it would come to this, and I have always known that they would complete, or not complete, this mission alone. I am uneasy about the fact that Legolas is sending men to bring them back, Haldir among them, and that he has so little faith in his own children. This is _their_ mission. If more Elves go to Middle Earth, nothing but tragedy will come from this….."

She paused, clearly struggling with an inner anger.

"This is precisely the reason I forbade Haldir to go. The fates will not be pleased with this turn of events. This story has only one ending. If it is interupted, changed in only the slightest way, death is the surest road that will be taken. The Elves were never meant to return."

There was a timbre in her voice now, a strange, faraway note that gave the man the impression his wife was in the throes of a vision. A warning that could not be taken lightly, or simply dismissed as a case of the vapors. This was what would happen. They had to act on it.

Suddenly, without warning, the man heaved forward, clutching his head moaning, falling from his chair and sprawling on the floor. Pictures passed before his eyes, fast and painful pictures, and there was a powerful voice in his mind, one that he could not push away even with the fiercest force of his will. His senses failed him as the blinding hot agony sliced across his temples, stealing his breath and making him gasp for air. He barely felt his wife dive down beside him.

__

Do….do not….Eldarion…..slaughter….

The words were fragmented, uneaven, and the trademark of an untrained seer. It was obvious whoever was trying to contact him was in a hurry, and took no precautions to sheild the man's own mind from the power behind the sending. 

__

Slaughter…Elves….not come….children….die….only way…..

"Celeborn." His wife whispered urgently, cradling his aching, burning head in her lap, stroking his brow and doing her best to soothe his pain while he was still unable to break free from the stranger's mind. "Celeborn, you must break free. Tell me what they say. You will loose it if you do not."

"I----I cannot…." he forced out, screwing his eyes shut to see the pictures more clearly. There was a garden, a man and a woman fighting, there was blood….so much blood….screams of despair, a woman kneeling beside a man and holding him tightly to her breast…..She was so familiar, but he could not indentify her. The pictures faded, then new ones came, slightly clearer and less fragmented.

A man…a man with eyes of darkness, leering at three figures that Celeborn could not see. There were voices too, voices that were muffled and unclear. He could hear nothing but the rage and fear in their words. 

Finally, three faces passed over his minds eye, so quick he barely caught them. But he knew who they were, and just as he tried to reach the stranger, they were gone, and he was left gasping for air, trembling in his wife's embrace. 

"Celeborn." She soothed, kissing his sweat slicked brow. "Quiet now…."

But he would not quiet. He had been shown something important, and he could not simply forget it.

"Eomynne. Caelidur. Elleduil." He panted, sucking in more air to ease his distressed lungs. "I was shown their faces. I was told not to let Legolas' men go, nor Haldir. They will be slaughtered by Eldarion's men if they do." He stopped, closing his eyes, trying to see the pictures again, but finding they were no longer in his mind. They had dissapeared like sand slipping through his fingers. "They cannot go. If the children are killed, then so be it. There is something greater at work here that we do not see. More evil will come from this than is plain to the eye."

His wife, Galadriel, was watching him very carefully, summing up his words.

"Do you know from whom this message was sent?" she asked calmly, still stroking his brow absently.

Celeborn shook his head.

"No, I do not. But they were untrained. The message was not carefully prepared…."

"Perhaps they were trained." Galadriel cut in, something appearing in her gaze. "But they had little time to prepare. Dire circumstances perhaps…..The last moments before execution….. I can think of only two who could have sent this; one is already lost to me, she has quickly forgotten all that I have taught her; the other, he is a man, and cannot be fully trusted."

"Who?"

"Nathaniel, the brother of the seven sons of Cillum. He was once one of the sea folk, but now he is imprisoned under the hold of an evil lord, and seen as traitor under the eyes of his brothers. This could be a desperate chance to redeem himself, by giving false information to the enemy. I cannot rely on his word."

"And the other?"

"You knew her. Hasana is her name, and she too was from the family who now dutifully, although blindly, serve Eldarion and his cause. She is greatly weakened by loosing her soul-mate, the outcast Cigry, to Eldarion. I would not be surprised in the least if she has given in to Eldarion, for the safe return of her lover."

Celeborn nodded slowly, his heart still beating fast with exertion.

"I remember her. She was one of your most brilliant creations. But if what you say is true, she has given in to the human urges and forgotten what she truly is. It is a sad day."

Both were silent, regarding each other in the dim light. Outside, the sky was beginning to brighten, the deep black of the sky fading to a lighter grey. The moon was beginning its descent, readying the way for the sun when it would rise. 

"Do we trust the message?" Celeborn asked, his mouth set in a firm line.

Galadriel sighed a little, looking at her husband briefly before gazing outside again.

"I do not know. I doubt that even if we were to stop this expedition Haldir would listen. He loves Legolas' daughter, that much is clear. I feel I must grant him this, even if I send him to his doom. We will let them go, but we will not send them on their way without this warning."

Celeborn sighed in turn, grasping his wife's hand lightly.

"Yes." He agreed. "It is all we can do."

"This story will be a sad one." Galadriel whispered, again that timbre appearing in her voice. "Many will be lost, and many will grieve. More suffering will come, that we yet cannot see. The world will change. It is clear it will not be as it once was."

A/N: Meh, so I said lots would happen…..I've got to this part and I've decided to become the evil cliffhanger bitch. I would write in the part with Eldarion and everything, but I have no inspiration as of yet how to write that part so I'm kind of giving you mindless dribble that is making the story run in circles. But hey, if I wrote the part with Eldarion, I feel that it would be rushed and not done very well. So….*sigh* here we go with another chapter. It is longer, as I promised, even though not much happens……I hope you enjoyed this(even though it sucked) and yes, I realize I have repeated the Nathaniel/Assilan lust thing, but it won't go any further than that. This story isn't going to be slash. And also, again I must remind you that the Elvish is a rough translation. But other than that PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!! 

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	11. Torture

A/N: Another day, another chapter. I think I'm finally going to get around to the good stuff now, after all that dilly dallying. Build the tension, I always say. So enjoy, and REVIEW, because even with all the hard work I'm pouring into this, "Corruption" is a sadly neglected story.*pointed stare at those who read, but do not review as is proper*

Disclaimer: Go shag yourself…….Kidding! No, really, I own NOTHING, so there's no point in getting angry about it is there? I clean up after myself……and if the characters come back somewhat different than when I took them……it's not my fault………*heavy pause* Look! An eagle! *runs in opposite direction* 

Chapter Eleven

Hasana and Nathaniel sat cross legged on the marble floor, each looking into the other's eyes with complete concentration. For those that knew better, they would see that while they were silent, a different kind of exchange was taking place, one that was far beyond the hearing of any normal man. Eldarion and Assilan sat in high backed chairs no more than a few paces away, arms folded across their chests, feet crossed at the ankles. They watched the pair with interest, though it was clear they were getting impatient. Maybe not Eldarion, but Assilan certainly was.

_If we don't say something soon, they're going to get angry, and people will get hurt._

Hasana knew Nathaniel was right, but she didn't like the idea of talking to him with Eldarion around, or Assialn, for that matter.

_Not yet. Please._

Opposite her, Nathaniel's eyes hardened just a little.

_No, we cannot let them think we are conspiring against their plan. We must go along with it._

Hasana sighed in defeat, allowing herself to close her eyes for a brief moment to gather some semblance of calm and wisdom. She would have to play all her cards to make sure Eldarion stayed fooled long enough. Nathaniel, of course, would have no problem. He had been prisoner for more years than her, and knew how to close himself off and keep blank. Hasana had once been like that, though not anymore. She had lost everything Galadriel had taught her, her mind trying to reverse what could never be changed. She would always be what she was, but that didn't mean she knew how to milk it for all it was worth.

"They are talking mind to mind." Assilan hissed suddenly, fidgeting in his seat as if he ached to stand and do something about it. "They are resisting."

Eldarion exhaled through his nose, a small smile dancing on his lips.

"Why do you not talk?" he asked them. "Get aquainted? You'll be spending a lot of time together from now on. You might as well learn eachother's names."

Hasana curbed the urge to spit on his finely polished boot, squaring her jaw and raising her head in defiance.

"We will speak when we are ready." She replied tartly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Nathaniel tense, the hands placed in his lap curling into fists under the strain. He wasn't watching Eldarion, he was watching her. Perhaps he had thought she would take a different route, and believed she was making a head on dive into something she could not handle. Eldarion was not a man to get angry, but she knew how to push his buttons without paying dearly for it. 

"Hmm." He murmured. "I don't think you quite understand your place, Hasana. You will speak when I tell you to speak. Now talk to the traitor. Tell him your name. Perhaps you might as well go ahead and tell him your lover's name aswell. The better you know one another, the better you'll work together."

Hasana merely scoffed.

"Work for what?" she laughed. "Your _cause_? Did you seriously think we would willingly participate in the slaughter of thousands? If you do, then you are a fool indeed Eldarion."

It was as if she had cursed his father, the reaction was so fierce. Eldarion jumped to his feet like lightning, throwing his chair behind him as if it were nothing more than scrap. It smashed easily against the wall, and Hasana couldn't help but flinch a little, cowering under Eldarion's suddenly fiery gaze.

"Forget this." He snarled, turning to Assilan, who seemed just as surprised as she. "Forget the whole afternoon." With a growl, he turned to the two men-at-arms standing ridged by the door. "Bring the Elven Lord from his cell. We do this now."

With that, Eldarion stormed from the room, Assilan following closely at his heels. Two more men filed into the small room, pulling Hasana and Nathaniel to their feet, following Eldarion down the hall where he led them to the grand ballroom, throwing the doors open and rushing inside. Upon entering, Hasana noticed that the tables had been cleared away in the center of the room, and two small chairs sat in their place facing the windows and balcony beyond. What looked like a scaffold stood in front of them, though instead of a rope hanging from the top, two chains dangled at the sides, with two more bolted to the ground. The guards sat Nathaniel and Hasana in the chairs and strode back to the doors. 

The second they were seated, Eldarion rounded on them, a wildness in his eyes that sent shivers striking up and down Hasana's spine. She'd seen him a rage before, but never like this.

"The time for dilly-dallying is over." He roared. "We go forward now, forward to a brighter future in the eyes of men."

There was a strangled cry from the doors, and Hasana somehow found the courage to tear her eyes away from Eldarion and swivel in her seat to see the men from the other room march in, a limp form dangling between them. The red robes the figure wore were nothing but ribbons, grimy and disgusting from long days spent in a dank cell deep in the bowels of Minas Tirith. Their long ebony hair dangled in front of their face, greasy and tangled in knots. At first, Hasana thought it was a woman, until they raised their head ever so slightly, and the hair parted to reveal a face she knew only too well.

"Cigry!" she shrieked, knocking over her chair and scrambling towards him, unable to look away from his beautiful face; one that was now screwed up tight in pain, crusted with year old blood and covered in dirt. 

Eldarion ran after her, wraping one arm around her waist and halting her frantic progress. She fought in his hold, kicking and scratching and doing anything that was humanly possible to get to her lover. The men continued to march forward, but they did not stop in front of Eldarion, instead they went on and hauled him onto the scaffold, locking his wrists and ankles in the heavy chains. Cigry sagged under the weight, moaning softy, his eyes closed. 

Eldarion took Hasana back to her seat, then dragged over a heavy trunk, one she had not noticed before, digging a jingling set of keys from his pocket and searching through them for one to open it. Hasana shifted in the chair, biting her lip so hard she broke skin and a trickle of blood ran down her chin. Her eyes, now a troubled midnight black, swiveled back and forth between Cigry and Eldarion, her heart pumping erractically in her chest. Beside her, Nathaniel was shivering, his own eyes locked on the chest Eldarion was trying to open. Hasana had a frightening thought that he knew what it was for, and feared the consequences.

Finally, Eldarion found the right key and set it in the lock, turning it quickly and throwing the lid open. He pulled a large blanketed shape from the chest and dropped in on the floor. It made a clanging noise when it fell, one that sounded too much like swords for Hasana's liking. Crouching down, Eldarion unfolded the package slowly, and Hasana's stomach lurched horribly once she saw what was inside.

Dozens of pockets lined the inside, some larger than others, but each held a different instrument crafted of metal. There were knives, and tweezers, and scalples similar to the ones surgens had used on her own head. Some of the pouches were filled with what looked like neatly coiled wire. A whole row was devoted to them, the first pouch no larger than her smallest finger, the last the size of her arm. Besides what Hasana could identify, there was an array of things that she did not know of, and no desire to. There was even a set of something akin to sandals, though along the bottom, she could see many small spikes, some even, still covered with blood. 

_Tools of torture_ came Nathaniel's soft, undeniably terrified voice inside her head, and Hasana nearly fainted right then and there. She suddenly had a very clear picture of the price of her refusal.

The same two guards appeared again, this time toting a large brazier between them, and placed it beside the scaffold, crouching down to light it and set the coals aglow. One of them prodded the coals, then let it sit and soak up the increasing heat. There was only one purpose to doing such, and it was not an attractive option.

Eldarion finished with sorting out his tools, then stood and regarded Cigry for a moment, before turning to Hasana and Nathaniel.

"Time has come for a change." He said, starting to pace slowly. "I have sat and waited for too long. My prisoners have become arogant and foolish with petty ideals of hope, and they believe I no longer hold over them the power I once did. But they are wrong, very wrong."

He stopped, stooping down to pull a small scalpel from his package and hold it tightly in his palm. He swivelled on his heel and grasped Cigry's hair, wrenching his head back and placing the tip of the scalpel on his neck, pressing down ever so lightly on the skin which pulsed fainty with the beat of a struggling main artery. Hasana held back a gasp, tears gathering in her eyes.

"I can kill him." He whispered to her, taunting, teasing. "I could if I wanted to, and you know that, don't you Hasana?"

Hasana nodded numbly, all thoughts of refusal flown from her mind.

"Do you love him enough, to do anything I ask of you in return for his life?"

_No!_ Nathaniel shouted inside her head, his voice frantic. _No, do not let him manipulate you! You **promised** me Hasana. Do not go back on your promise now, when it all comes down to this._

"Answer me Hasana." Eldarion said firmly, pressing the scalpel a little harder.

Hasana didn't know what to do. She couldn't simply watch Cigry die, now that she was so close to having him in her arms again. She just couldn't. She had gone through too much, given up too much in hope that one day she would be granted the grace of holding him, of kissing him, of crying all her worries and pain away because he was with her. She could not refuse Eldarion. She wasn't that strong, to give up what really mattered to her, just to save the life of three people she didn't even know, despite the fact that they were Bren's own children, innocents. She wouldn't.

"I love him enough." She said, tuning out Nathaniel's cry of anger and dismay in her mind. "I will do whatever you ask of me."

Eldarion grinned wolfishly, but instead of drawing the blade away, he merely flattened it on its side and swiped it down Cigry's neck, turning it again just in time to slice effortlessly through the dismal robes and cut one long line across his chest. Cigry cried out in agony, bucking in the chains, blood spilling forth from the wound and staining the red robes a deeper shade of crimson. Hasana lept from her chair, but was thrown back by Assilan's strong arm. 

"I do not believe you." Eldarion said, smirking lazily.

"Believe what?!" Hasana cried, tearing her eyes away from Cigry's bloody body. "I told you I would do whatever you asked of me……"

"You may say that, but I do not think Nathaniel feels the same." Eldarion replied.

Hasana laughed bitterly, uncomprehending. "What does he have to do with this?"

"His face." He said. "When you said you would obey me, a strange look passed across his face. What kind of look do you suppose that might be?"

Hasana's stomach suddenly clenched, a coil of fear winding around her breast.

"I do not know." She whispered, but it was quickly becoming a lie.

"Betrayal." Eldarion said simply. "I know betrayal. I know what it looks like, and despite his stubborn attempts to hide it, it was there, plain and clear as day on his face. I have never seen it so clear before."

Hasana opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. 

"You were going to refuse." He continued. "You were going to outright refuse, and supposedly not care for the consequences. But apparently, Cigry's life is too high a price for your morality. Quick thinking brought you to the conclusion you could bluff for a while, and find some way out. Any soldier would have done it, and so I am not surprised at all."

And Hasana knew it was true. She knew she wouldn't have gone along with it for long.

"Now." Eldarion sighed. "Let us get on with this."

He bent down and picked up one of the knives, tossing it between hands. He walked around the scaffold and climbed up onto the platform, tearing what was left of Cigry's robes away, leaving nothing but some threadbare leggings; once white, now stained a greenish grey.

"Contact the Ardarauko in the Grey Havens." He comanded her, grasping the hilt of the knife tightly. "Do it now."

Hasana shook her head, even though she knew the consequences.

Eldarion raised his brows, lowering the blade and slicing along the back of Cigry's ear. Cigry twisted in pain, a low keening note flying from his throat, but he did not cry out. More blood spilled down his temple and along his cheek, some of it falling down his neck. 

"Do it now." Eldarion repeated, this time a little firmer.

Still Hasana shook her head, her turbulent eyes clouding with tears.

One of the guards tossed a whip to Eldarion she hadn't noticed before, and he uncoiled it, taking a practice snap in the air just above Cigry's head. The Elven Lord flinched, but said nothing. Eldarion waited for just a second, as if giving Hasana a chance to change her mind, then turned and whipped the cord back, throwing it down on Cigry's exposed back with a sickening crack. He took two more swings, Hasana jumping in her seat each time, before lowering the cord again.

"Will I have to ask you again?" he queried softly, but there was a dangerous note in his voice.

"I will not do it." Hasana replied as firmly as she could. "I know Cigry understands this is for the greater good."

Eldarion turned to his bloody victim, tugging on his hair again to raise Cigry's tired, pain creased face. He smiled to the Elf, taking his chin and bringing it very close to his own face, his gaze boring into Cigry's dull, expressionless eyes.

"Do you understand?" he asked, as if adressing a child. "Do you understand what your _lover_ is putting you through, what she is making you endure?"

Slowly but surely, Hasana could see a familiar light spark in Cigry's gaze.

"Mankoi lle irma sint?" he responded softly.

_Why do you want to know?_

"Because I wish to know. I do not have to answer to you. Tell me, do you understand?"

There was a heavy pause, and to Hasana's joy, she watched a small smile play along Cigry's lips.

"Amin uula malia. Amin anta rangwa"

_I do not care. I do not need to understand._

Eldarion didn't accept that answer. With a force, and power, and speed Hasana didn't know a man could posess, he lept down from the scaffold and ripped one short, thin blade from its pouch, using Cigry's own body to lever himself back into the platform, and before anything could be said, before anything could be done, he swiped the blade across Cigry's neck, piercing the main artery in one foul blow.

Hasana screamed. She screamed louder than she had ever screamed in her life, throwing herself from her chair and running up to where Cigry's body twisted and turned in agony, blood rushing in torrents from his neck, saturating his clothing, tangling his hair, washing the once pristine marble floor into a sheet of dark crimson. There was madness as guards fought to keep Hasana away from him, and above her own screams and Nathaniel's own cries of despair, she could hear Eldarion shouting.

"Do it now! Do it now and he will be saved!"

Hasana didn't even have time to think. She pushed her way out of the guards hands, stilling her mind and closing off the sounds, the smells, the sights. Her eyes became clouded as she sent the message wide, searching for a powerful mind to catch. She didn't see as Eldarion cried in triumph noticing her unfocused and blurry gaze, unbolting Cigry form his chains and laying him in his own blood, watching the imprisoned Elven healer come bursting through the doors to save the life that could not be brought back by any mortal means. Her entire body, her entire essence was on sending the message. She knew she hadn't done this before, this far. She knew that it would cause great pain to whoever she chose to give the message to. She knew all this when she finally found a powerful mind, shining bright and clear in the haze, and latched on to it, throwing all she had into communicating with this person. 

She could not have known that is was the Lord Celeborn who she contacted, on that balmy night in the Haven. She could have cared less who it was, as long as they knew. In a nonsensical mess, she told them about Eomynne, Calidur and Elleduil. She told them not to come, that only death and agony would result. She told them everything that she knew.

But the one thing that she didn't know, was that she was too late.

"They are gone?!"

"Indeed they are Celeborn, which means they have left before we could warn them of the troubles they will face on Middle Earth."

"I do not understand. Why would they go a day early? What could they hope to gain?"

"I do not know."

A heavy sigh.

"What will we do then? If what this message says is true, then their lives are in grave danger."

"They were always in danger. They could not expect to return to Middle Earth, and openly oppose Eldarion without any opposition in return. This was _their_ choice. We did not make it for them."

"But what about….."

Elrond backed away from the slightly open door, tuning out the conversation inside. He was not one to eavesdrop, but this conversation had come upon him unbidden, and now that he knew what Celeborn and Galadriel were so quickly trying to cover up, he could not help but listen. If what they said was true, then there had been a warning from Middle Earth, one pleading Legolas, Haldir, and their men not to come and save Legolas' children, for fear of the consequences. But they had gone, and a day earlier at that, than originally decided amongst them all.

Elrond had lived through many things, both good and bad, and had experienced times best forgotten, but nothing before had filled him with such dread as he felt now, such a deep foreboding that told him there were very dark times to come. It was a kind of feeling that made you want to crawl into a corner and die, and let he rest of the world deal with it, because you were too afraid of what was happening. Not ever in his many thousand years had Elrond wanted to crawl into a corner and die. Never had he felt as if he could do nothing to change the course of fate, or had willingly given up.

But now…..now was a different matter entirely.

Now was a time for great decisions and great evil, and now was the time where the very fate of the Elves hung in the balance, and neither option was without death, and without great sacrifice.

A/N: * sigh * Another short chapter. Well, at least something important happens……sort of. Hope you enjoyed, and please review, because I seriously need it. Seriously. R&R!!!!!!!!! 

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	12. Death

A/N: Another chapter *sigh *. It seems like no matter what I do, no one is reading my story, except for JK and Lady of Legolas who (I'm sorry to say it) is somewhat getting on my nerves. She doesn't give constructive criticism, or comments, rather, she gives her own opinion of what should be done, as if she's the one writing Coruption, not me. I'm sorry if that offends you, Lady of Legolas, but that is how your reviews are coming across to me. But anyway, I hope that anyone who takes the time to read this, enjoys it, and PLEASE R&R!!!!!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Get over it.

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Warning: This chapter deals with very violent character death. If that is not your thing, skip the last paragraph and e-mail me. I will explain what happens. You need not suffer unnecessarily. 

Chapter Twelve

It was a rather quiet night in Gondor. The winds had died down after many days and nights of thrashing rain and hail, and the air was now still, although just as deadly. It was easily many degrees below zero, and anyone caught out without proper clothing would quickly fall into the fatal sleep of death, lulled into the false pretense that the chill would fade in slumber. But sleep was far from the minds of those slinking through the fields along the River Anduin, a troupe of fifty moving at an alarming speed, quick, and silent. As they passed through a small farming village, they were nothing but shadows in the night, and anyone who looked out their window would have thought them spirits. Whatever tale they spread the next morning would be dismissed as a drunken stupor, and no one would think any more of the slippery shadows. 

By day they resided in whatever trees they could find, slithering away into the branches like nimble cats, their feet making not a sound. If anyone passed underneath, they could hardly have known that nearly three score warriors were perched silently above them, and simply go on about their business like every other day. 

The nearer they came to Minas Tirith, the quicker they moved, and it seemed that that would be their downfall. With speed, came carelessness, even in the minds of the most noble and wise of beings, minds which were focused on a single goal. It was that goal that had driven them so far, and it was that goal that would carry them to the bitter end, if for good, or ill. Every single one of them knew the risks they had taken, and had willingly given their very lives for a greater cause. They were loyal to their Prince, and would not see him suffer with the grievous deaths of his children. If they all died, they would pass on with the knowledge they had done all that they could do, nothing more, nothing less. But being so focused, they did not notice when they were spotted under the glare of the full moon by a simple farmer, their light hair and Elven cloaks easily identifiable in the milky light. The farmer rushed back to his house and said farewell to his wife and children, saddled up their only horse and galloped off to Minas Tirith with a message for the King. 

It was painfully clear that he would get there first.

On the night they were under the shadow of Mindolluin, the troupe stopped for rest, having to settle with camping on open ground, as there were no trees in sight, at least not any large enough or in great enough number to accommodate them all. Their leader sat down on the well worn earth, gathering some sticks together and striking a small fire. Another rested beside him, and together they stared into the tiny blaze, the dancing flames reflected in their ageless eyes.

"We are close," Haldir said softly, prodding the fire with another small stick. "I would guess by tomorrow we will be running on the Pelennor fields, as you once did Legolas."

The Elven prince sighed heavily, seeming old for the first time in his many thousand years. There was a great worry in his eyes, a feeling of unease that he could not shake easily. He knew his children were in grave danger, but so far, he had done nothing but sit back and blindly believe that they would triumph. Legolas would never forgive himself if he had come too late, waited too long. He did not think he could bare to see the pain and agony in Bren's eyes if she were to hear news of her children's demise. That would be too much. 

"I only hope we are not too late," he whispered, voicing his troubled thoughts. "For I cannot help but think that we are…."

Haldir lay a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to push the thoughts of Eomynne lying dead at Eldarion's feet from his mind. He wanted to say that they were not too late, but he did not know that for certainty. They could have very well been dead weeks before, and their troupe was doing nothing but marching to their own deaths.

"Tomorrow will hopefully bring better things," Haldir said quietly, standing up and striding off to his bedroll. He waited until he knew Legolas would not care to listen, before adding to himself, "and with it, greater dangers."

The rest of the group were soon settled, and after a time, Legolas snuffed the fire and lay down. As he closed his eyes, he thought he could hear Eomynne laughing, her carefree voice carried on the wind, the ones of her brothers mingling with its fair sound. 

If they were lucky, it would not be only a memory.

The rider reached Minas Tirith just as dawn was stretching its bright fingers across the sloping fields, turning the grass a bright emerald which shimmered with morning dew. The first circle opened at his arrival, and the guards only nodded briefly in his direction. They knew this man well. He often came with his family during the trading and market season, his carts loaded with animal hides and crops from his fields. He was an honorable and respected man, who was openly on Eldarion's side in their war with the Elves. They knew he would not cause trouble, so let him pass without stopping for inspection. 

The man rode through the first circle at an alarming speed, then stabled his horse in a building near the gates of the second circle before continuing up the next level. Crowds parted as he dashed through the marketplace, his cloak rippling fiercely behind him, and they wondered what a good man such as him would be doing creating such a ruckus. The look of utmost urgency on his face left no room for argument that he would stop for such simple things as making his way politely amongst the cobblestone streets. The people of Gondor rarely saw such people, though on those occasions the runner was usually a bearer of bad news or an important message for the King. 

The man did not stop running until he reached the seventh gate, and it was there that he was met with opposition. A trio of men-at-arms approached him, their helms gleaming in the morning sun. Their faces were weary and drawn, their eyes rimmed with dark circles. It seemed as if they were close to being relieved, and had not yet been granted sleep that night. The symbol of the white tree was on their shields, and the man could not help but feel his eyes drawn to the powerful picture, his heart soaring at the sight of it. He had been young when Sauron the Deceiver had come close to gaining the One Ring, and he knew the fear all of Middle Earth had once lived in, the darkness that had sent many a man cowering under its evil influence. He had been one of the countless number that had welcomed the rein of King Elessar with joyful hearts. Even after so many years, he could not help the powerful emotion that swept over him when his eyes would see the white tree.

"Who comes before the Citadel?" one of the three men asked firmly, although his strong voice wavered with exhaustion.

"I am Valius," the man said in return, still slightly breathless after his trek up the seven levels. "I seek council with the King. I bear important news of the Ardarauko."

All three shuddered at the mention of the Elves, looks of disgust briefly overshadowing their weariness. They shared a quick word, then the smaller of the three swept through the seventh gate, ascending the stairs that would lead to the Citadel. Valius shifted from foot to foot, eager to give his message and return home. He knew that this news would aid his King, and was glad for it. Valius had done much to gain favor with Eldarion, to show his unfailing loyalty, and this would bring him up farther in the eyes of his King, which would in turn bring more honor to his family. His father, who had fought valiantly defending Gondor, would be proud of him, which brought a wistful smile to his lips. It was unfortunate that Valian, his father, had succumbed to his ailment, his body sagging with disease and rot. It had been a painful journey for both father and son, and Valius was glad that his father was now free of pain.

It was quite some time before the small guard appeared again at the gates, and told Valius that he would be granted an audience with Eldarion. Valius nodded gratefully to him, then was escorted by another pair of men up the grand staircase to the Citadel high above. Once they were inside the palace, Valius was left by his escort and taken by yet another set of two through the winding halls and corridors until they approached a large, open conference room. Valius was ushered in, then left alone. He approached the long table hesitantly, noting that the King was already seated, scribbling quickly on a piece of parchment. Hearing him enter, Eldarion's sharp gray eyes flicked up, and Valius lowered his own gaze respectfully, staring at the marble floor, waiting until he was bade step forward. He noted, oddly enough, that the sheen of marble directly underneath his feet was tinged slightly red, and he scuffed his boot against the smooth surface, surprised that it flaked away easily.

"Valius, son of Valian, you have news for your King?" 

Eldarion's silky voice caused Valius to glance up sharply, giving a quick nod in agreement. Eldarion leaned back in his chair then spread his arms wide, a small grin dancing on his lips.

"Then speak."

Valius cleared his throat.

"Last night, as I was coming in from the barn, I saw something." He paused, playing nervously with a stray thread on his jacket. "I saw a group of what seemed to be men running across my fields. They were quick, and silent, and almost invisible, and I thought them nothing more than a trick of my eyes until they stepped under the light of the moon, and I saw what they _truly_ were…."

Eldarion raised one elegant eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"They were Ardarauko," Valius whispered. "It was undeniable. Men of Gondor, nor any among the Rohirrim wear clothing such as theirs. They were slender and very tall, and had long, light hair. I did not see their deformed ears, but from what I _did_ see, I had evidence enough. I came here to warn you, my King, that they are headed in the direction of Minas Tirith. I feared that they were on a mission of assassination perhaps…..and I knew that I was bound by my loyalty to Gondor to bring this news to you."

A calculating look suddenly appeared in Eldarion's steely gaze, and his mouth became a set, firm line, all trace of his earlier grin gone. 

"How far?" he asked, holding his quill above the paper.

"Nearly ten leagues."

"How many?"

Valius thought hard, trying to remember their number. "Three score I would say. Quite a few, though slippery as eels for such a group. It is astounding that I spotted them at all….."

"Did they hold weapons?" Eldarion cut in, not patient enough to hear the rest. "Bows? Swords?"

Valius sighed. "I could not see from the distance, though I am sure they had bows. Maybe a sword or two among them, though to have spotted any blades, concealed or no, would have been a task for one of their kind."

Eldarion nodded, noting the information.

"Did they have any distinguishable features? Did they carry a banner, or a shield with a symbol?"

Valius shook his head. "No. It seemed like they carried only what they would need for a short while. It was certainly nothing of the military sort. They wore no armor, and carried no banners. Nothing but their weapons and the cloaks on their backs. Seemed more like militia in my opinion."

Eldarion nodded again, writing a few more things before rising and leaving the room for a moment. Valius waited patiently until he returned, no longer holding the piece of parchment, an appreciative smile lighting his handsome features.

"You have done your country and your King a great service indeed, Valius son of Valian." He said, clapping Valius on the shoulder. "You will be rewarded greatly. Expect to see more livestock on your fields and food in your storehouse. This will not be forgotten."

Valius smiled in return, bowing low.

"Verily, my Lord, I do not deserve such good graces. It is truly an honor to serve you."

With a last hasty bow, he was gone from the room, and Eldarion sagged back against the lip of his desk, arms folded stiffly across his broad chest. The smile on his face was nothing but a distant memory now. His lips were pressed together in a severe line, making the small frown line between his eyes appear. 

"So, Legolas Thranduillion, you come for your children," he whispered savagely, picking up a glass paper weight and throwing it against the wall with surprising force. The broken fragments fell to the floor in a glittering shower, and he laughed, his ice gray eyes spitting fire. 

"The time has finally come for you to receive what you are due, Elven Prince."

Like one drowning in the merciless grips of the ocean, Eomynne struggled to the surface of consciousness, her limbs weighed down by sluggishness and fatigue. One by one, her senses returned, and as she opened her eyes, the dawn light spilling through her open window blinded her like a burning brand. She gave a muffled cry of exclamation, trying to raise her left arm but finding she could not. It resisted, and a white hot jolt of agony sliced through her, causing a hoarse shriek to fly from her dry, scratchy throat.

Moaning softly, she rolled onto her side, cradling the broken limb with a careful hand.

Her mind took some time catching up, and it was a while before she began to wonder exactly how long she had been in the drug induced sleep, plagued by hellish nightmares of men with evil eyes and evil smiles. She strained her ringing ears for sounds of someone in her room, but even when she heard nothing she still hesitated in sitting up, shading her eyes from the early morning sun. 

The room around her was the same as ever. She could still see a small spattering of blood beside the bed, and suppressed a shudder. How long ago had that been? A day? A week? A month? There was no way to tell how long she had lain, nursing her injured arm. It was a frightening thought, to know how much she might have missed in the comforting embrace of sleep, and she might as well have been awake the entire time for all the good it did her. She felt hollow, dry and empty as a husk. The aftereffects of Caelan's remedy left her with a sensation of restlessness and important things not done. It was bothering, and made her curiously disoriented, wondering what exactly that she hadn't done that needed to be attended to. She knew there must be something, but just couldn't seem to determine what. 

Flexing her protesting fingers and toes, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood, leaning hesitantly against one bed-post for support. The room she had at some point begun to regard with familiarity was the same as it had always been, bathed in afternoon light and chilled with the winter's biting breeze. She raised her remaining hand up to her eyes, noting the dried blood and dirt inhabiting the space under her chipped nails. Without thinking, she lowered the hand into a waiting basin of warm water that had been placed on her bedside table, swirling it around slowly. There was a birdcall outside the window, answered by another further away. 

Careful to keep her injured arm from straining itself, she dressed slowly, pulling on the yellow dress she had worn to the ball, her only article of clothing besides her Elven tunic, which was tucked away safely for when she might need it. Unable to button up the back, she left it undone and sat back on the bed, working the tangles from her mud-caked hair with careful fingers. She was half-finished thumbing absently through Aragorn's journal when there was a brisk rap on her door. Rising cautiously, she approached the battered door and lay her hand on the knob, wondering if she should answer. Before she could decide however, she was thrown aside as it was forcefully opened and landed hard on her backside, knocking her skull against the wall. Fighting the sudden dizziness, she looked up, and met the heated gaze of Eldarion.

"It seems you have finally decided to wake up," he said, twirling what looked suspiciously like a sheathed dagger between his hands. "Care for a ride?"

Eomynne somehow worked up enough saliva to spit on his finely polished boot, cursing vehemently.

"I would rather swim in boiling oil," she hissed, feeling the rage rip through her in a surprisingly satisfying way. 

He merely smiled at her.

"Well then, we shall see what we can do about that,"

Without so much as a by-your-leave, he reached down and pulled her up, throwing a heavy brown cloak she hadn't noticed into her hands and dragging her out the door. She stumbled after him, trying to regain her balance and fight the dizziness at the same time, nearly falling over as he turned a corner sharply.

"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly, struggling to hold the heavy cloak in one hand. "Where are you taking me?"

"You will see soon enough," Eldarion said coldly

Eomynne's stomach gave a nervous lurch, followed closely by another wave of dizziness. She closed her eyes tightly, clenching and unclenching her fists.

Domic met them outside the ninth gate, with Caelan and another man standing to his right. All three were dressed in battle attire, large swords swinging at their hips and bows slung over their backs. The sight of them, dressed as they were with the white tree gleaming on their breastplates, made Eomynne supremely anxious. She pressed her hand firmly over her breast where the picture of three stars were sewn into her tunic, running her fingers slowly over the embroidery as if to gain courage from it. She'd sewn it on to the tunic the day before they left the Haven, three bright stars to represent Caelidur, Elleduil, and herself. It had served as a constant reminder to all that she had, and all that she could lose, but at that moment she needed it for strength. _Like the stars hang fixed in the sky, so do we stand firm, _she thought, hearing the memory of Elleduil's voice in her mind, _we will sooner die than fall under the will of another._

"Follow me."

Eldarion's voice was suddenly loud in her ear, and she jumped, looking at him with frightened eyes. She didn't move.

"I said follow me!" he growled, taking her arm to pull her after him.

He led her through the ninth gate, Domic, Caelan and the third man following behind, and then down the next eight levels until they were just before the first gate into Gondor. There they stopped outside the royal stables, the white tree painted bright upon the lintel, and went inside. Eomynne waited close by while a young boy and his father saddled the horses and brought them around to where they were standing. Domic, Caelan, and the third man, who's name was soon revealed to her as Essien, mounted their respective horses, while Eldarion pulled her up in front of him on his before she had time to protest. The gate was opened before them, and then they were on the field.

Eomynne lost track of time as they rode, closing her eyes against the harsh wind that whipped against her and sent her long hair into a flurry. Eldarion kept his arms tight about her the whole while, his fingers white where they gripped the reins and his chest firm against her back. She tried to ignore the feeling of his smooth face so close to hers, but could not. Inside she was quaking with fear. 

The ground rose up steadily as they went, until they crested the hill and stopped, the horses snorting and stamping their feet. Below them, the ground dipped sharply into a barren valley, and as Eomynne looked closer, she gasped aloud, moaning in agony.

The shapes she had at first mistaken for trees were in fact moving, and for the first time in her life, she cursed her far-reaching sight. At the front of the small group, were two blonde heads, ones that she knew only too well. 

_No, _she thought desperately, her heart bleeding, _No. Why did they come? Why must they be so foolish? Oh father, Haldir, friends! You must not sacrifice yourself for us!_

Eldarion sensed her dismay and leaned closer, his breath hot on her chilled face.

"Do you know them?" he asked her tauntingly, chuckling. "Do you? Answer me!"

Eomynne could do nothing but nod, tears overflowing her eyes and making her throat constrict.

"As I suspected," Eldarion said, and made a flicking motion with his hand behind her back which she did not see. One of the men abruptly turned his horse and cantered off. Eomynne twisted on the saddle to see who, but Eldarion grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and forced her back around. He said nothing, but tightened his grip.

There was a long period of silence. The three of them waited on the crest of the hill, and Eomynne's eyes were fixed on the group as they got closer and closer. She knew that even with their Elven sight they would not see them where they were perched. The ridge was dotted with clusters of thickly branched trees, in which their group was carefully concealed, and it would take more than just a perfunctory glance by a scout in the valley below to reveal their location. 

Eomynne was just about to open her mouth and ask Eldarion what they were waiting for, when her keen ears heard suddenly the distant thunder of hooves upon the earth, and she knew.

The troupe heard the approaching army before they came into view. They drew bows and daggers, unsheathing long swords from their belts and making ready their shields. Eomynne wanted to sob with fury. They could not know the number which approached. They had no idea what they were up against. She knew with a painful clarity that there was no helping them now.

Like the dawn breaking, the Gondorian army rose into view on the hill, banners streaming behind them and helms gleaming in the midday sun. With a mighty roar, they descended, horses charging and swords held high into the air, and the dirt swirled into a choking cloud that floated languidly behind them as they passed. They were two hundred strong, not even a third of the entire army, and Eomynne could virtually feel the Elves' fear as death flew towards them. She watched with tear blurred eyes as the two forces clashed, the screams of men dying and the sounds of metal upon metal infusing the air with a twisted symphony of war. Her own ragged, hoarse sobs were drowned out by the cacophony of noise. 

Haldir and her father fought like men possessed, bows twanging as arrows were released and daggers flashing in a tornado of carnage. One by one the Gondorian men fell at their hands, though Eomynne did not go so far as to feel even a twinge of hope in her heart. What was a dozen men when two hundred were behind them? The odds were horribly not in their favor. She tried to think of turning away on Eldarion's horse once the last Elf had fallen, knowing that her father, and Haldir, and countless others were dead, but it was impossible. The thought of that did not make any sense. How could she ever be alive when they were gone?

For one clear moment, she saw Haldir break free of the melee, his chest heaving and face smeared with dark blood and dirt, and the most overwhelming sensation consumed her. It felt like her heart were being ripped in two, veins and arteries snapping, flesh tearing. She'd never known a feeling like it, even when her brothers had been taken from her and she'd entertained the thought of never seeing them again. That was nothing compared to the burning agony in her chest, the grief, the pain of knowing that she might never hear his voice again, so smooth and languid like a cool summer's day, might never feel his gentle hands encompass hers in friendly affection, or see his ageless eyes look at her with calm compassion and understanding. And it was then that she saw Domic draw his bow, slowly pulling the string taut, one arrow quivering in his steady grip.

"_Haldir!!_" 

The noise, the scream, came from the very depths of her being, rose like a mighty wave ready to break upon the shore, carrying with it all the pain and suffering she had endured at Eldarion's hand in the hope of seeing Haldir again, all the memory and emotion, and burst from her throat as if thrown from the caverns of hell itself. It rang out across the valley, over the noise of battle and the horses' hooves, echoing clear and bright.

But it was too late.

He heard her scream of warning, but there was no time to move. She saw his face, so utterly beautiful, twist into a look of surprise, and then fear. She saw her father drop his weapons and make a desperate dash to where Haldir was standing paralyzed in shock, and then the arrow hit its mark.

The next moments were like a horrible dream. 

Haldir fell, his limbs twisting and flailing, one hand clenched around the arrow shaft, bloodied and mangled from battle. Legolas fell beside him, his arms reaching out to hold Haldir close to him, his voice screaming with rage and mourning. Eomynne broke free of Eldarion's grip and vaulted off the horse, running from the men and down the hill, stumbling and falling as her foot snagged on an unnoticed rock. She struggled to get to her feet, but her momentum carried her nearly all the way down, and when she finally landed with a crunch that broke her arm anew, she looked up and her eyes saw a sight that would stay with her forever.

Legolas, kneeling on the trampled grass with Haldir's body clutched desperately against his chest, raised his head to scream. He had barely drawn breath when a man ran up behind him, sword held high. There was a moment of complete and utter silence, and then the blade came down, flashing like a burst of fire, and cleaved Legolas' head clean from his shoulders. His body slumped backwards and fell to the earth as if in slow motion, stirring a cloud of dust, and lay still. 

Eomynne turned, vomited, and knew no more.

A/N: Brutal. I know. I do not mean to make any of you angry, for this must be a grievous sin in the eyes of Legolas fan-girls. I will not say why I do this, for that if for me to know, and you to never find out. This chapter was a long time in coming, and while I acknowledge that this was a bit much, I hope I do not disappoint. To lessen the blow, I will tell you that Haldir is not dead, yet. I am unsure as to what I'm going to do to him, so nothing is set in stone. Remember though, HE IS NOT DEAD. I know that this probably doesn't mean anything because Legolas IS dead, but please, do not flame me. You must understand that I made this decision for the sake of the story. Please REVIEW, and tell me what you think. 


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